Broken Daggers
by Leonette
Summary: The Hero of Kvatch is a mystery to all until her tragic past is revealed. Contains Martin Septim, Vicente, Lucien, Arquen, Farwil Indarys, Eldamil, Count Hassildor, Captain Burd, the Draconis family, the Dark Brotherhood, the Main Quest and SPOILERS
1. Prologue: The Dunmer

A/N: Okay, this is my first Oblivion fanfic so please, be nice! Until now, I've only been doing Harry Potter fanfics.

Okay, this is a fanfic that basically tells the story in every NPC's eyes but the PC. I'll have to see how this goes. And the timeline's completely warped too so, be warned!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Prologue: The Dunmer**

_Martin_

The Sanguine Rose on his back, Martin crept through the halls of the ruin. His orders from Sanguine had been to accomplish what the others had died attempting. There was an 'excruciatingly dull' (as Sanguine said it) ceremony going on within the confines of the ruin. What kind of ceremony, who was attending, how the others had died and why in Fort Farragut was a mystery. His friends had died over the last week trying to sabotage the ceremony, quickly and brutally as far as their bodies could tell. This made Martin all the more determined to get to them, to get revenge for their deaths and the favour of Sanguine (that would no doubt be much greater since he was the only one who came back alive)

A nice little platform opened up on a wide room lit by torches with many outlines of people dressed in black. The people were moving, they were leaving the room, _Damn, they've finished!_ He scowled. If he hadn't stayed behind to examine the bodies, then he might have got there in time! He glared at the black mass mutinously then noticed that a couple were staying behind, _Excellent! I still have a chance!_

But, after the door was closed, it was far too dark to get a good aim. Before he could do a Night-Eye spell, however, this was remedied by one of the figures lighting a torch. Four people came into view, all wearing the same black robe with the same pale sheen that suggested some enchantment on it. Three stood in a group while one stood apart. Since they all wore hoods, it was too difficult to get a clear view of their faces but he could pick out their races. One Altmer, one Imperial and two Dunmer. The Altmer and one Dunmer were female. The female Dunmer was the one that stood apart.

The Altmer carried the torch to a bracket dangerously close to Martin's hiding place and affixed it there. Moving back ever so slightly, Martin readied the Sanguine Rose. The air was chokingly sombre, Sanguine had been right about that. The silence was gloomy and made Martin restless. Just as he contemplated starting now, the Altmer spoke, "Do you need a moment, Listener?"

_Listener?_ Martin frowned. He had never heard that form of address before, _Some unknown guild, maybe?_ His curiousity got the better of his impatience and he stood still to watch. The Dunmer who stood apart turned her head to the others, "Yes." She whispered. There was something about her voice that tugged at Martin's heartstrings. It sounded broken and, sure enough, he saw the glinting tears upon her face.

The other three inclined their heads respectfully. The Imperial spoke first, "I'll to my Sanctuary in Chorrol. May the Night Mother be with you, Listener."

"And, I'll to Bravil." said the Dunmer, "May you always walk in the shadow of death."

"I'll be waiting outside with Shadowmere." The Altmer added. With that, the three left.

Martin's heart had stopped when the Imperial had spoken, _The Night Mother...the shadow of death...Azura preserve me, I've just walked into a Dark Brotherhood lair!_ Terror gripped him. Even reckless daedra worshippers feared the Dark Brotherhood and knew when to avoid them, _No wonder the others got killed! If I'm caught..._He began to slowly back away, fearing every step would be heard and every shadow contained an assassin waiting to pounce.

He had not taken five steps before the now alone Dunmer put back her hood. Martin blinked, amazed. Beneath the dark hood were thick locks of amazingly bright orange hair, falling to just past her shoulders, and standing out spectacularly against the darkness of the room. He found his eyes affixing themselves to the bright colour, all thoughts of escape vanishing.

He had never found Dunmer attractive before. Their red eyes had unnerved him since they were so similar to vampires. But, this one...It was only when she crossed the room did he see a stone tomb raised on a platform covered with a pale cloth emblazoned with a black handprint. It looked very recently erected; the edges were not worn away by time and the cloth was fresh.

The girl knelt beside it and reached out her hands to touch the smooth cloth. Her head drooped and her brilliant hair fell over her face. But he didn't need to see her face to tell that she was crying. Her whimpering, distraught cries echoed around the stone room. Martin felt a wrench in his heart for her. Though he was a daedra worshipper, he could not bare the sound of crying, let alone this.

It was strange. Everything about her made him want to reveal himself, to comfort her, _She'd probably kill me on the spot if I did that._ He reasoned but still, his pity for her stayed. It increased when her sobs became words,

"Oh, Lucien...Lucien...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry it had to end like this..."

_A grave of someone she loved?_ Martin tried to get a good look for any indication of a name on the tomb but the cloth covered every inch. Then, another wrench in his heart threw him into a whole new mind altogether, _She's a member of the Dark Brotherhood and yet she mourns her friends...like you should. She's a merciless assassin, crying for the dead, and, here I am, a worshipper of Sanguine, not showing any respect for anyone who died today. I just walked past as if I didn't know them. What kind of person am I?_

The Sanguine Rose suddenly felt tainted, evil, the proof of his sins, _Sanguine actually wanted me to disrupt a funeral?_ He was disgusted. He had disrupted or 'livened up' dinner parties, guild meetings and even an Elder Council meeting but he drew the line at funerals. Even if it was the Dark Brotherhood. The reality of it all came crashing down on his head as hard as though the ceiling had caved in.

He drew the Sanguine Rose for one last time, cast a Chameleon spell on himself and dropped the staff from his hiding place. By the time the Dunmer had looked up to see what the clatter was, Martin was long gone.

* * *

_Eldamil_

"Here, I've got some deer." She was still there when he came back, dragging the bloody, just-killed animal. She looked up at him, a complete relief in her garnet eyes, as though he had been gone for days let alone less than an hour, "I put it on the fire, shall I?" No answer. As always. He swiftly speared the dead flesh and set it on the cooking props above the still-burning campfire.

The Dunmer was quiet; she had barely spoken a word to him through their three-days stay at the camp. Not that he blamed her. Anyone who had gone through what she had gone through with no one to truly support her would no doubt have that effect. She probably thought he would attack her any minute. Even though he had changed out of his Mythic Dawn robes, she could not forget who he served. Still, he could see that she was glad of his company. In her case, any company would have been better than nothing.

Knowing that staring at her would not help the little trust he had managed to gain from her, he attended to the meat, trying to coax it to look edible. However, the sluggishly-cooking meat would not hold his interest for long. He found his eyes glancing back at her, who was bent over parchment with a piece of charcoal picked up from the fire whizzing over the page of parchment. Only her amazingly orange hair was visible. Trying to repress his curiousity, he turned back to the now slightly-darkening meal.

He couldn't resist the question for long. When she started on a fresh piece of parchment, he asked, without really meaning to, "What are you doing?"

She looked up, her eyes guarded, probably judging whether he was worthy of knowing. Eldamil swallowed, wishing he hadn't spoken. Then, the girl spoke, "Sketching. Just sketching what I can see." She turned back to her work, now looking like she was shading something with quick straight lines. The meat still showed no sign of wanting to cook so he felt he could leave it for a while. He stood up and took a few steps towards her,

"May I?"

Again, she judged him before slowly handing over her previous sketch. Eldamil took it and surveyed it. He nearly dropped it. He had been expecting some kind of landscape picture but, instead, an Altmer with a drooping mouth and pale hair oiled back to the nape of his neck. Underneath was a little caption, _Eldamil_, "Wha...why are you..." He struggled to find a question that wouldn't sound threatening and got the answer he wanted. However, the girl made such worries unnecessary by saying,

"It's so I don't forget. I never want to forget."

Eldamil, shocked by this statement, silently handed the drawing back to her. He could not fathom her. She had many secret she hinted to but he was half-scared to ask her directly. He had been nervous of saying anything to her, in fact, in case it triggered a violent reaction. One had to come soon. She could not just sit there quietly after what she had gone through, _Had she gone through even more? She is a Dunmer, after all. There is a chance she was on the receiving end of prejudice from the stuck-up Imperials around here. No one can take this much pain in their lives and simply say nothing. No one._

He contented himself with sitting on the log some other tennant of the camp had placed by the fire and thinking. Subconsciously, he turned his head north to the cavern shrine of Mehrunes Dagon. He had been there when it had been first built. He had helped kill its past settlement of bandits and sell all the treasure there to afford the building tools. He had seen prisoner after prisoner sacrificed, even gaining sadisitic pleasure from watching in the shadows.

_So, why stop now?_ He wondered, _Why did I turn my back on it all? Just when I was starting to enjoy it. All for what? To save a young Dunmer prisoner from sacrifice. Not that the sacrifice would have been something so terrible. After what she has endured, it may be even considered a blessing to her, _Eldamile didn't know why he was questioning himself so much. He knew fully well why he had done it, _To save my own skin. If I didn't save her, I would no doubt be killed by the Dark Brotherhood with the rest of them._

He gave a subtle glance up at her, _She looks too young to be an assassin. Too young, too innocent to ever by capable of killing anyone. It seems impossible that she's the __**leader**__ of the Dark Brotherhood to boot! How on earth did she reach that status at such a young age? Are all assassins as young in years as she?_

His whirling thoughts were interrupted by her glancing up and giving a small gasp. Eldamil looked up and around for any intruder, "What is it?" He asked, after a moment of searching around and seeing nothing,

"I sense someone coming. A good distance away but they are coming this way."

Eldamil listened hard and, sure enough, he could hear faint voices and fainter footsteps. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he pointed at a tent, "_Get in there. You'll be out of sight. I'll hold them off if it comes to it._" The girl hurriedly obeyed. Eldamil realised with an unspoken groan that her brilliant orange hair was still visible even in the shadows of the tent. He drew his dagger and tensed himself. The voices were growing louder. They were shouting. Shouting a name. A name he didn't recognise. But the girl did.

She leapt from her hiding place and grabbed his shoulder, "It's my family!" She whispered. Eldamil was confused by this statement for a moment and then, realised what this meant, _The Dark Brotherhood!_ Just as expected, an Altmer in dark robes came running into view. What little he could see of her face was flushed and sweaty as though she had been running for a long time. In her dark robes and the bright sun, he wasn't surprised. As she got closer, he realised she was referring to the girl.

The newcomer clearly cared very much about the girl for her questions of her whereabouts for the last week bombarded her without pause. Remarkably, the Dunmer managed to stay calm and not crack. She answered the questions with short, evasive answers, _She will not talk about it. I will probably have to tell her, _"You!" snapped the Altmer, pointing at Eldamil, "What is your business in this? Are you involved with this twisted cult?"

"Don't, Arquen." said the Dunmer, laying a hand on her shoulder, "He saved my life. He rescued me from that place. Let him go."

Arquen looked like she did not like this idea at all. She scowled at him. An unpleasant sight with her face. She must have glared at him for a whole minute, as though committing his face to memory (and she probably was) then spat, "Get out of my sight."

Eldamil didn't need telling twice.

* * *

A?N: So? Was it good? Was it terrible? Should I go back to HP fanfictions? Please tell me!


	2. Chapter 1: Lucien

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Working on two stories at once will do that to you. I'm glad this story is well received so far and I hope it will continue like that. Remember to review! Even a simple 'I loved it' will suffice! I'm not fussy.

**BurningSilence: **Well, I hope I can maintain your interest. Please tell me if I am or I'm not.

**Ijinzu: **Yeah, I'm actually having a good!Arquen in this fic. Who'd have thought?

**Lionpawheart: **In the words of Mr Lachance, 'In due time, child, in due time'.

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 1: Lucien**

He didn't know why but, ever since his lucky escape from Fort Farragut, the Listener began to haunt Martin's dreams. Every dream more baffling and vivid than the last. The first was one of her clutching a bundle as though her life depended on it while being chased by dark phantoms. She had to abandon her bundle in the end and face the creatures alone. This dream went on for about three months every night. Then, a new dream appeared. One of a bodiless blood-red robe holding her to the floor in the shadow of a nightmarish four arms giant he thought he'd seen before. Then, a year after he had first seen her, the regular one began.

A nightmarish scenario lay before his eyes. People were being murdered left, right and centre all around him by the Dark Brotherhood (or, by the look of their robes, it was). All except the Listener, who was hiding with her head between her knees. As the years went by, the dream progressed and altered. First, two bodies hung over her head; one of a dark-haired Imperial and the other of a brown-haired Breton. Both were male. Then, the girl stood up and fought off creatures that appeared and attacked her with one long claymore in each hand. The dream then stopped changing when those creatures turned to daedra.

All these dreams had the same recurring aspect though. One was a small group of the same people. A Nord man with a Bruma guard uniform and five Imperials, three women and two men. The eldest with grey hair was dressed in the humble garb of a farmer, the fair-haired one wore a Leyawiin guard uniform and the dark haired one was half-naked, looking almost wild. The men were one dark and one brown-haired, that one wearing chainmail and the dark one a barman's apron. This strange assortment of people always had their backs to the scene of chaos, seemingly unaware of it, and were crowded around a steel sword stuck in the ground. The Nord lay a tiger lily against this and all looked as though they were grieving for some long-lost loved one.

The other was the bundle, which he came to realise had been a baby. It was always seperated from the Listener by a wall. Always, it wailed and wailed loud enough to make any woman drop everything and run to it but the Listener was hesistant. She would take a few steps towards the dividing wall and, then, she would stop as though scared,

"Dreams are messages from the Divines and must be heeded." Oleta told him, piously, when he finally confided in her after a particularly scary episode in which he had watched both her arms being torn off. He had not told her all the details.

It was strange but, ever since he got back to the Chapel of Akatosh, he had not breathed a word of witnessing the Dark Brotherhood to anyone. Even though he knew that his information could lead to Cyrodiil's liberation from those cold-blooded assassins but, somehow, whenever he thought about telling someone, the image of the Listener's weeping face appeared and he knew she would be killed if found.

So, he spent the years in the Chapel of Akatosh in silence, keeping his memories and his dreams to himself. He was amazed that they had even let him back into a Chapel again after his time as a Sanguine worshipper. He had just turned up on their doorstep and they had accepted him back with open arms, even promoting him to the rank of Priest for having the strength to 'return to the right path'. It was truly astonishing.

What was more astonishing was that he was kept there so long and he managed to conform to the Chapel's rules this time. What he had seen at Fort Farragut had sobered him more than he could have imagined. Now, he kept his head down and carried out all his duties as a pious priest. As much as he could so that he could atone himself for his actions.

Sixteen years went by and the dreams became less frequent but never let him forget the Listener.

* * *

The years went by in a haze of obedience and regret until, one Last Seed morning, when a murmer went through the priests, "That trouble priest is coming."

Martin frowned when the primate gossiped with a civilian about this,

"What trouble priest?"

"Don't you know, Brother Martin?" said the primate, a short-haired Bosmer, "There's this half-Dunmer priest being transferred here from the Chapel of Arkay. He's been shunted all over Cyrodiil, been in every chapel and always gets sent away for some reason or another. Honestly," He scowled, his forehead crinkling, "a half-breed in a chapel of Akatosh! What is this world coming to?"

"Now, now, servants of the Nine should not be clouded with such prejudice." Martin said, sternly,

"It's not just prejudice, Brother Martin." The primate stood up as the civilian left, "I've been told all sorts about him. Whenever he's at a chapel, bad things happen. People who insulted him get sick, injured and, once, one of the chapels he was at got attacked by Dark Brotherhood assassins! The Dark Brotherhood of all people! Everyone in that chapel was killed apart from him! You know what I think?" He beckoned Martin to behind one the pillars and whispered conspiritorially, "I think he might be one of them. Everyone who insults him meets with misfortune and, from what I've heard, he's one to keep to himself. These assassin types are masters of covert activity-"

"Now, I'm sure that's not true." Martin said, shaken by a mention of the Dark Brotherhood and speaking to try and get him to stop talking about it,

"Half-breeds, they bring nothing but ill favour from the Divines. I'd advise you to stay away from him. He'll do you no good at all and I for one don't want to fall victim to those assassins."

With that, he strode off to Oleta, who was calling him, leaving Martin to his confused thoughts. Part of his mind believed his wild assumptions and panicked for a moment, _What if he finds out I trepassed on one of their hiding places?_ But his logical mind repressed these thoughts, _It's just wild gossip._ He told himself sternly, _I'm sure it's all coincidence._ Still, the idea of the Dark Brotherhood appearing on the doorstep and slaughtering everyone in sight was terrifying. What if the Listener herself had been there? He certainly did not want the opportunity to meet.

Over the coming days before the 'trouble priest' arrived, however, he found it easier to see past whispers of the Dark Brotherhood, _Well, _He thought, as he gazed up at the stained glass window of Akatosh, _this keeping-to-himself thing is all nonsense. I doubt with his reputation that anyone would want to try and make friends with him. He must be very lonely._ Gradually, his thoughts became more sympathetic towards him and so, when the 'trouble priest' did arrive, Martin was ready to receive him.

Five days after the first rumour, the High Priestess, Christelle Desmarais, gathered all the priests, healers and primates to the main chapel. A hooded man stood beside the alter, staring at the ground with his head in shadow. Martin could imagine why some people would not approach him. He did not look like the most sociable person. The Bosmer primate sneered beside Martin in an very audible whisper, "Looks like he could be one of them and all."

Martin hushed him hastily, when the man turned their way. Martin met his gaze and attempted a smile. He could not have been successful since the man looked away. Christelle moved up the man's side, "Kneel before the alter of the One." She commanded. The man did as told but there was a routine-like way in which he did it, as though he was used to it, "Now, state your name."

"Lucien." said the man, in a dark, Imperial-like voice,

"By the Grace of the One, I bind thee to the service of Akatosh." intoned Christelle, her arms reaching to the ceiling. Light poured from the glass window of Akatosh, upon Lucien as the sun rose. The initiation ceremony was complete, "Rise, Priest of Akatosh, Brother Lucien." and Lucien stood up with the same bored routine way as before, "Everyone." Christelle turned to the others, "This is Brother Lucien. Please make him feel welcome at Kvatch."

After a few days, however, it became clear that no one had heeded her words. Lucien was frequently absent from the chapel and, when he was there, he received taunts and threats from the Bosmer primate. Martin did his best to prevent it and reported him as often as he could but the Bosmer never stopped. Martin was beginning to wonder whether he ought to request that the primate be transferred.

This thought was forgotten when Lucien appeared in his chamber, "Yes, Brother Lucien?" Martin asked, politely. The man (who never seemed to have his hood down) glared at him, then sat upon a stool close to the door. Though Martin did not want to judge too hastily, Lucien certainly gave off an aura of ill-feeling that he could not quite pinpoint. His blank eyes made the image no better,

"You do not have to force a false tolerance of me upon yourself." His voice was slow, dark and deliberate, with small pauses between every few words, "These meagre taunts mean nothing to me. I have endured them all my life and I have developed a desensitisation to it. You do not need to act the schoolmaster breaking up a trivial playground fight. I am not your charge. Therefore, cease and desist your interference."

Martin put down his quill and sighed, "That primate is harrassing you and, in the Chapel of Akatosh, we cannot allow that to happen no matter how used to it you are."

Lucien furrowed his eyebrows. This action served to highlight his dark eyes. These were his most astonishing feature since Dunmer always had ruby-red eyes and this difference made it clear that he was only half-Dunmer. The rest of his features were not as extraordinary. He had purplish skin, a dark shadow of stubble on his face and a visage that Martin supposed would be considered handsome. He had not seen his hair yet since he had never seen him with his hood down. He guessed it to be short and dark, something that would fit easily under the hood,

"Tell me something, Brother Martin." Lucien spoke again without warning, almost making him jump, "Do you know your parents?"

The question startled him. He thought about requesting an explanation but knew that it was probably wise not to be too inquisitive, "No, I don't." He said, truthfully, "They died and left me in the care of the chapel." To his surprise, this answer seemed to please Lucien. A small smile lighted upon his face and a small spark of life appeared in his eyes,

"You too, eh?" He said, before Martin could ask, "Parents, they're so heartless, aren't they? Who needs them?"

This answer startled Martin into an answer, "What are you talking about?"

"My parents abandoned me in the Chapel of Bravil." Lucien's face darkened, "Or, I should say, my mother did. My father never appeared once." His voice grew darker and his face contorted with anger, "My mother gave birth to me in the chapel and ran off the next day. Must have been some common harlot. They tried to convince me that they were both dead but I overheard them talking about it."

Martin didn't know what to say to this. He wanted to say something that might make his past seem less terrible but he didn't know what would sound convincing. As though Lucien had read his mind, he held up a hand, "You need not say anything to me. I know my own past or enough of it to satiate any curiousity. Besides, I prefer people when they're not talking."

With that, he stood up and walked out of the room. Martin was never quite sure whether it was an accident or not but Lucien's hood fell back to reveal long, sleek dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

* * *

Martin did not have the chance to speak to Lucien again for the next few days. During which time, the Bosmer primate was more unpleasant than ever, beginning to avoid Martin now, saying that, "...the half-breed got to you." Lucien would not speak to Martin in the eyes of others. In fact, he did not speak at all or put back his hood again.

It was only when Christelle called him to aside after a baptism did he have the opportunity again. The night before had been disturbed by a dream involving the Listener again.

But not the ordinary dream. There was no killing and no fighting this time. The Listener was alone. It was all darkness. He could just see the dividing wall again but, instead of the baby, there was Lucien. He was striding firmly away from the wall, only occasionally looking back. Then, as soon as he got about twenty feet from it, he turned and ran back. He slammed his body against the wall, beating his fists against it and crying out as loud as he could, desperate as though he wanted the Listener to notice him. The Listener seemed to hear him and made to go the wall. Again, however, she hesistated, as though frightened, and drew away.

Martin had just been running over the dream again in his head and wondering why it had changed when he heard the voice, "Martin!" hissed Christelle, from the door of the undercroft, "I can't find Lucien anywhere! He should have attended the ceremony!" Indeed, he ought to have attended. It was a strict rule that every chapel-worker attended the ceremonies held,

"I'll look for him." Martin said, at once, his curiousity of the reclusive priest increasing again,

"And, make sure he comes back!" Christelle called after him, "He'll be on kitchen duty for a week for this!"

After leaving the chapel, he blinked in the bright sunlight. He noticed that dark clouds were gathering in the distance though, _Give it a few hours and it'll be raining._ The square between the chapel and the castle was deserted. The last stragglers from the christening ceremony had gone to the inn for the celebration, no doubt, and there was only the ever-present beggar stood in the shadows between the buildings. The emptiness of the place made it very easy to pick out Lucien.

He recognised the deep green robe with the hood at once. He was sitting on the small wall surrounding the statue of Antus Pinder on the side facing the castle, almost completely hidden and would have been had the sun not been so bright overhead. He strode down the steps and hailed him, "Brother Lucien! Why were you not at the baptism ceremony?" He spoke in the routine, professional manner that was required of him, hoping that Lucien would not see it as an attack on him. To his surprise and relief, Lucien merely looked up at him with his usual blank, empty eyes and said,

"Forgive me, Brother Martin, but these ceremonies bring out the worst in me." Martin waited for him to stand but he stayed where he was. After a moment's wait, Martin sat down beside him, glancing up at the castle,

"So..." He started, awkwardly, all too aware of Lucien's stare, "...how do you like it here in Kvatch?"

He wished he hadn't said it as soon as the words came out. The stare continued, making him sweat in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. Even the beggar shuffled away, uncomfortable. Finally, Lucien spoke, "A little better than the other places, I suppose." He eyed Martin up and down, "Should you not rally me to the Priestess for my punishment?"

"Kvatch isn't the biggest city." Martin said, on a sudden inspiration, "And there are large crowds normally because of the arena. It's easy to get lost."

Lucien's eyebrows raised, "If we were to get lost, would it not be prudent to be in a place where the chapel cannot be seen?"

So, keeping their hoods up, they strode from the statue and through the city gates. Down the winding path they went until they came to a little flat piece of ground close to Bellator's Folly. There, a flat rock served as a bench for the both of them. Lucien pushed back his hood and let the soft wind blow through his hair. Without prompt this time, he spoke, "Baptisms and weddings are the worst for me but ceremonies in general give me no joy. I just see families bound by love who would never abandon each other and...it makes me bitter." He shrugged, then the smallest scowl appeared on his face, "Besides, I would not want those families to be infected by my misfortune."

Martin glanced around at him in surprise, "Misfortune?"

"You do not mean to tell me you haven't heard. That Bosmer must have told you everything before I arrived." Lucien glared in a way that made Martin's blood run cold, "The misfortune that befalls all around me. I am a plague rat; I do not suffer from the disease, I carry it and infect others around me." He scowled and looked more alive than he ever had, more upset, "People fall sick, become injured, some even die. Do not attempt to convince me you have not heard of the Dark Brotherhood attack on the Chapel of Arkay in Cheydinhal."

"Well, I heard about that," Martin said, truthfully, but he lost his nerve when Lucien's glare intensified, "but I didn't know you were there at the time."

Lucien raised an eyebrow but his angry face returned, "I was. I only survived by hiding under one of the beds. They must have miscounted the bodies because they did not search for me. It was just luck! They did not spare me on purpose!" His hands balled into fists and his lips pulled back over his gritted teeth, "How dare they say that I'm one of them! I may not be as pious as they expect of me but I would never associate myself with those unholy assassins!"

"I know." Martin said, patiently, gaining more courage now that the other's gaze was directed to the ground. Lucien looked less daunting now and more like a normal teenager that had just been scolded by an over-protective parent, "None of us here would even dream of it. I don't know why those people who are in the Brotherhood do what they do but I know that you are as likely to become one of them as I am." He reflected on how valid that statement was for a moment, _No!_ His head answered, _I would never do that. I have never killed anyone. At least I can be thankful for that,_

Lucien looked up, this time calculating, taking in Martin's every twitch. He could have shook under the stare but he held his ground, thinking that showing fear would not be the best thing to do. After a while, Lucien's face softened and he put his head to one side, "You...you do not believe that I am a cursed man, do you?"

"No, of course not." Martin shook his head, "You have to believe that the gods would not curse a man who serves them despite, uh, misfortune."

"Yet, your faith is not as solid as the stereotypical priest." It amazed him how observant the other was, "Tell me, what shook your faith?"

Martin bit his lip. He had not told anyone about his time as a daedra worshipper, especially since it involved the Listener. Lucien, again, read him correctly, "Very well. You need not tell me if you do not want to. You do not ask about my past, I should not ask about yours either. Forgive my intrusion into your privacy. Now," He stood up, "you have had enough time to find me. Any more time and they will have the guard looking for us."

So, reluctantly, Martin left his seat and following Lucien back up the hill.

* * *

Martin tried to be as pleasant as he could to Lucien but the Bosmer's efforts, however, were put into being as unpleasant to Lucien as possible. His taunts continued, if not becoming worse than before. After the first week of Lucien's employment, the primate contracted Bone Break Fever so badly that he was confined to his bed. All the while, he groaned that, "...that boy will curse us all."

Lucien, though pleased that the Bosmer was not there to bully him, was upset by the sudden, unexplained illness. He confided in Martin after a few days, "It's starting again. I thought it wouldn't happen. It normally starts straight away. I'll have to leave again."

"No, you won't." Martin consoled him, knowing exactly what he meant, "This has got nothing to do with you. You were out at the time he showed signs. No one can connect it to you."

"Oh, can't they?" sneered Lucien, staring so hard at the wall that Martin expected his eyes to burn a hole in it, "You will be amazed how prejudiced even the most pious people are. Soon, I will be the only one untouched in this chapel, stubbornly absent of any misfortune, if not benefitting from others' pain." He punched the desk he sat at, suddenly becoming more emotional than Martin had ever seen him, "_Why?_ Why me? What demon's watching over me, making everyone around me suffer? Why won't it go away? I don't want it!" His eyes sparkled and it took Martin a while to realise that they were tears. Angry, frustrated tears, "I _am_ cursed; maybe I should just...run away..."

"No!" gasped, Martin, without really meaning to. Lucien glared hard at him for it, a few tears escaping his eyes. Swallowing his fear, Martin reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Lucien maintained his furious glare, looking like he was about to say 'I don't need your pity'. However, he stayed silent so, Martin spoke, "You can't blame yourself for every bad thing that happens. What happens, happens. I don't know if there's a divine plan but, if you are involved in it, you have to believe the gods can turn this to good."

"You don't believe that." Lucien snarled, "Whenever you talk about the gods, you never believe what you say. It's written all over your face."

"Well, maybe I don't completely." Martin admitted. Lucien's powers of observation never failed to astound him, "But, I have to try and convince myself."

"Why? Because Sister Christelle tells you to?"

"No." Lucien raised an eyebrow and listened closely, "Because I don't want others to become like me. I am not proud of my past. I strayed from the way of priesthood and would still be there had I not had sense knocked into me. I don't want others to stray because I know that they might not be able to come back. It was hard enough for me."

Lucien put his head to one side again, "How can you say what you do not believe without faltering?"

"Not without practise." Martin admitted, "A bad reputation never truly leaves you but you can let some people forget it."

"You have no bad reputation."

"Because I have worked hard to serve Akatosh and, over time, I have gained the trust of the people." Martin was not exactly telling the truth. The people knew hardly anything of his time as a daedra worshipper. Certainly, they knew that he had been associated with daedra but they did not even know which daedra. He had not been as avoided and feared as Lucien but had been on receiving end of some distrust that had dissipated after a short time. Luckily, Lucien did not pick up on Martin's white lie. He stood up, rubbing his face,

"Perhaps you are right. I should make a little more of an effort."

"That's the spirit." Martin smiled.

Over the weeks, Lucien's attitude had improved visably, with Martin's encouragement. He was still reclusive and unsocial but would talk to Martin more publicly and would even attend some ceremonies (although he stayed out of the way at the back). With the Bosmer out of the way, Lucien was a little happier in Kvatch. No one else in the chapel had endured 'misfortune' and Christelle could not have been happier,

"He'll be a model priest in no time." She said, during a conversation with Martin, "I don't know what you said to him but it has worked! Oh, really, Brother Martin," She added, seeing his astonished expression. Martin had never told her about his conversations with Lucien, "don't think I don't know. Brother Lucien adores you!"

Lucien's employment went on for two months, which, according to Christelle, had been the longest he had stayed at a chapel. Spirits in the chapel were higher and Lucien was included. The weather worsened, forcing the priests to stay inside. This suited Lucien, who was most comfortable by Martin's side (Martin had just began to realise this). He was beginning to open up to Martin more and, thus, began to act less like a recluse and more like an normal teenager. He moaned about chores and people giving him funny looks.

Martin, in turn, began to confide in him about the nightmares. None concerning him and never connecting the Listener to the Dark Brotherhood. Simply saying it was someone he had once met. Though, he felt that he might as well. Lucien was so non-judgemental and, though agreeing they were frightening, simply said that they were only dreams; nothing to be very worried about. But both enjoyed their evenings together.

* * *

The dream took another change as Frost Fall became Sun's Dusk. Lucien, instead of running back to the wall that concealed the Listener, picked up a dagger and began to join the murdering Dark Brotherhood. He looked utterly mad, slashing down people with swift mercilessness with a wild glint in his eyes. Martin had cried out to stop him but he would not listen. He saw one of the bodies there was the Bosmer primate. Another was Christelle and another was Oleta. Then, he had seen his own body, torn to pieces and covered in blood. He had woken up screaming and covered with sweat,

"Brother Martin, are you alright?" Lucien was in the doorway, a robe thrown over his nightshirt, "Another nightmare?"

"Yes." Martin panted, clutching his hair, "By the Nine, that had to be the worst yet."

"You said my name." This made Martin's head shoot up, "You were talking in your sleep. Saying 'no, Lucien, stop it', 'don't do it', 'put that dagger down' and such."

"Oh, did I?" Martin asked, feigning ignorance. He did not care what Lucien thought of him; he had stubbornly decided to take that dream to his grave and never tell a soul about it. He attempted to wipe some of the sweat from his face and rubbed his eyes, "Go back to bed, Lucien. It was the usual."  
Lucien shook his head, "You said it was the worst yet. Something must have changed to make you so shaken with dread."

"It was nothing, Lucien. I'm fine, now." He lay back down, wishing that Lucien would heed his dismissal. He was thankful to hear the closing door.

He felt a little regretful that he had been so aloof with Lucien over the next day. The terror the dream had gripped him with had dissipated over the next day. He would tell him in the evening, he decided. He had nothing to hide and Lucien would never do a thing like that in real life. Lucien went out to the tavern that night to get the weekly food package reserved for the chapel and Martin sat down in his usual seat by the fire to wait for him.

However, the chair opposite him went unfilled for hours. As the time went by, the storm became worse. He could hear the thunder which sounded terrifyingly close. He had heard of some chapel towers being struck by lightning in the past and he wondered whether it could still happen now. He wondered whether Lucien had been caught in it.

Sleep was threatening to take him when the door banged open. Martin stood up in shock to see Christelle, soaking wet and her eyes wild, "Brother Martin! Quick!"

Throwing on a raincloak at once, he hurried from the chapel. He feared for Lucien at once. The lightning flashed around the city walls, as though desperate to get in. Christelle hurried to the tavern which, Martin noticed, was gathering a considerable crowd. There were no arena matches today so this made no sense. As he got closer, he noticed the people were not celebrating or happily drunk but fearful and even horrified. The shaken landlord was trying to usher people out and, as soon as he saw Christelle and Martin, he hailed them in relief,

"Thank Akatosh! You have to see this!"

Fear and dread growing coldly with every sodden step, Martin pushed through the crowd of people into the bar. There were less people here and easier to see clues as to what the trouble was. Christelle turned to the landlord, "Where is he?" She asked, in an urgent hiss. Another thrill of dread coursed up Martin's spine. Was it Lucien? Was he hurt? When the landlord pointed a shaky finger upstairs and told them to look into the middle room, Martin was the first to run up the stairs.

That door was slightly open and a very ominous-looking pool of blood lay on the floor on the threshold, slowly growing past the door. Martin hurried there, threw open the door and gasped in utter horror at what he saw.

The Bosmer primate was lying dead, half-slumped on the ruined bed, with an iron dagger in his stomach. Christelle was the next to reach the room. Being such a tender soul, she could not stand the sight. She gave a loud, terrible scream and fainted into the landlord's arms. It was a little while, in which time another lightning bolt crashed to earth, before Martin could ask,

"How did it happen? He should have been in the chapel...he had Bone Break Fever..."

"I'm not too sure." The landlord shook his head, "That half-Dunmer priest was here when he came in. Brother Lucien, is that his name? Well, he saw this fellow come in and said he wanted to stay here for the night. So, I gave him the room. This room, in fact." He added, gesturing at the walls, "He went up there and I never saw him again. The last I saw of this Bosmer was him going upstairs. I found his body about a couple of hours later."

Then, the guards came in and Savlian Mattius ordered that everyone leave so he could do a thorough investigation. Martin left the tavern, supporting a half-conscious Christelle. He was more shaken than he let on. The horror of seeing the dead body of that Bosmer was enough without the thought that Lucien could have done it. What made it even worse was the thought that the nightmares were beginning to come true.

* * *

A/N: Oooh, spooky! How do you like that?


	3. Chapter 2: Lavinia and Lenore

A/N: Wahoo! A big haul of reviews this time! Thanks, guys!

**Miss Lieress: **Look back to the Paradise part of the Main Quest and you'll find him.

**maskedpainter: **Eldamil's more popular than I thought. Wow. Glad I managed to convey the spookiness over. Martin is in for more nightmares, I can promise you that!

**Lionpawheart:** All will be revealed in due time, trust me!

**deadfinger: **Glad you enjoyed it.

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 2: Lavinia and Lenore**

The wind howled around him, pulling his cloak over the edge of the cliff into the empty space and threatening to take him with it. Clutching to a rock, he tried his best to steady himself, _Okay, so maybe going for a walk between training wasn't the best idea._ He was about to turn back when something yellow ahead caught his eyes. Nothing in the Jeralls was that shade of yellow except for the uniform of the Bruma guard. And, what would a Bruma guard be doing this far away from town?

Distracted, he moved towards it just as the snow veil began to lift. He could now make out the figure of a Nord in Bruma guard uniform, clutching what looked like a copy of the Black Horse Courier in his hands and standing dangerously close to the precipice. Making the assumption immediately, he leapt the rest of the way to him and cried, "Don't do it!"

Tugging the Nord back (not an easy task), he noticed that he looked drunk. Not an uncommon sight but seeing him sobbing was not, "Oh, Lavinia...Lavinia..." he moaned, seemingly unaware of his saviour's presence, "...my little girl...my little tiger lily...I loved you, my girl..." Thinking that the cold mountain side was definitely not the place for a suicidal Nord drunkard, he slung an arm over his shoulder and led the Nord back down the path.

He reached Bruma with the Nord still weeping over this lost daughter (he assumed) and led him to Olav's Tap and Tack. The snow had now become a lighter fall and did not blind his way. Olav looked up and an expression of relief spread over his face, "Thank the Nine! I thought Burd was going to throw himself off the mountain for sure!"

"He nearly did." he nodded, depositing Burd in a chair,

"Well, I'm damn glad you were there to stop him, young Knight. You're a member of the Blades, right?"

"Yeah." He gestured to the katana at his side, "Just signed up a month ago. What's wrong with him?" He jerked a thumb to Burd, who had picked up a tankard of ale and downing it with the greediness he had only seen in Nords,

"God's blood! You don't know?" Olav stared, astonished, "He lost his daughter about a couple of weeks ago. Well, adopted daughter. It was all over the Black Horse Courier."

"We don't really get much news up at Cloud Ruler Temple." he shrugged, "Unless it's urgent."

There was a sudden crash from behind. Burd had slipped out of his seat, the ale spilling all over the floor. Olav helped him heave the hopelessly drunk Nord back up, sighing in despair, "He's been like this for days. Always in here, drowning his sorrows. I've had to carry him out most days. He blames himself for her death, you know. It happened on the one week he was out of town."

Picking up the Black Horse Courier from the table that Burd had forgotten about and slipping it into his pocket to read later, he took a seat beside him, "What happened?" He asked, straight away, "How did Lavinia die?"

With a fresh torrent of sobs, Burd slurred and bawled the story out. Olav kept an eye on them as he did. The knight listened closely, really listened, capable of translating the slurs and hiccups into intelligible facts. The knight, a young Redguard, seemed extremely observant and senstive, nodding sympathetically throughout Burd's explanation,

"I didn't know what to do with him." Olav said, taking a seat at the table as Burd's head hit the table and he began snoring, "He was next in line be Captain of the Bruma guard but, now, I'm not so sure. I don't think he'll ever get over this. I decided on putting up a memorial at the place she died. It's just outside town so you can't miss it but I'm starting to feel it made him worse. C'mon, I'll give you a hand." Together, they carried Burd from the tavern to the castle barracks. No one stared at the sight of a Blade and Olav supporting Burd. It was probably a common sight now.

As they went through the square, a group of people were seen standing around the statue. A brown-haired woman surrounded by two boys around their twenties with a teenage and a preteen girl, "Ah," said Olav, turning to the Blade, "the Draconis family. Lavinia was close to them as well. The children treated her like a sister. Poor people. It's affected us all in Bruma."

It was clear that the family had been close to Lavinia. The little girl was bawling worse than Burd had into her mother's chest, the older girl was no better but trying to suppress it. The dark boy had his head between his knees, sobbing, while the brown-haired boy was trying to console him. Olav didn't hail them and the Blade followed suit,

"They all had nicknames for each other, you know." Olav said, out of the blue, "The five of them kids. Andreas was Dragon's Tongue, Mattius was Columbine, Sibylla was Flax, Caelia was Primrose and Lavinia was Tiger Lily. I don't know how the others got named the way they were but I know Lavinia got that nickname because of her hair. I've never seen that sort of hair colour before, let alone on a Dunmer."

They got Burd to the barracks and it was only then did the Blade realise what time it was, "Damn! Jauffre's going to kill me!" He began to hurry from the castle when Olav called after him,

"Young knight, what's your name?"

The knight looked back mid-run, "Baurus."

* * *

The shouts of what sounded like a elf reached Baurus' ears as he opened the door to the cells,

"...hear that? The guards are coming...for _you!_" It gave way to hysterical laughter. It gave Baurus chills to think how a long term in prison can unhinge someone. He stepped back to let the other three pass,

"Baurus!" snapped Renault, "Lock that door behind us."

"Yessir." Baurus did as he was told without hesitation. He knew it was wise not to waste a second after being given an order by Captain Renault when she was this tense. The Emperor went through the door after Glenroy, that resigned look on his face when he knew something bad was going to happen,

"My sons..." He said, after a while, in a tone to match his face, "...they're dead, aren't they?"

"We don't know that, sire." Renault said, trying to make her voice calmer, "The messanger only said they were attacked."

"No, they're dead." The Emperor shook his head, "I know it."

"My job, right now, is to get you to safety-" Renault broke off as they reached the cell and her eyes became wide and angry, "What's this prisoner doing here?" She snarled at Glenroy, "This cell is supposed to be _off limits!_"

Glenroy quailed under her hard gaze and stuttered, "Usual mixup at the Watch, uh, I..."

"Never mind! Get that gate open!" She glared at the puzzled figure within, "Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesistate to kill you if you get in our way!"

The prisoner didn't need telling twice. She (for Baurus noticed that she was female in the half-light) backed away from the door with her head down and stood in a corner beneath the window. Glenroy unlocked the door whilst Baurus checked the passage they had just passed through and the door they had come through, "No sign of pursuit." He reported, as Glenroy told the prisoner to stay put, _Not that she'll do any different, I'm sure,_

"Good," But Renault certainly didn't look as though she meant it as she came into the cell with the Emperor, "let's go. We're not out of this yet." She set about finding the entrance to the escape route, feeling the wall for the switch. Baurus stood in the doorway. Thought there was no visible sign of pursuit, now was not the time to relax, _To think the Emperor's sons were killed like that! They were fine warriors and yet, all of them are dead!_

His eyes flicked to the Emperor, _The Emperor is next, that much is certain and, if we lose him..._ He didn't want to think about it. Not now. At least something happened to distract him. The Emperor strode confidently past Glenroy to the prisoner, who was too hidden in shadow to make out any features. Before Glenroy could protest, he had held out a wrinkled yet still strong hand, "Come into the light." His voice was not as harsh as the way Glenroy or Renault had spoken to her. It was the kind firmness of a parent persuading its child.

After a small pause, the prisoner shifted reluctantly into the light, her head still bowed. Baurus saw that she was a Dunmer with the sort of purplish hue to her skin he saw only in amethyst and muscular arms that didn't match the rest of her rather frail body. At first, he thought her hair was flat and cropped of a dull sandy brown; then he realised that it was not her hair but a makeshift headscarf she had fashioned from pulling off one of the sleeves of her shirt, effectively covering her hair completely.

As he wondered why she would want to hide her hair this badly, the Emperor put two fingers under her chin and pulled up her face, "Let me see your face." He seemed very sure of what he was doing, unafraid and unsuspicious of her. Baurus knew this sort of behaviour well from stories he had been told by the Emperor's oldest friends. He had foreseen this meeting in dreams or star-gazing, had seen what she was and trusted her.

The prisoner herself had the telltale bewildered expression to tell Baurus they had never met before. He took in her features; the cheeks were wan as though they had no blood in them and the natural darkness of her eyelids and lips served only to highlight her skin colour. Her eyes, the standard ruby red of a Dunmer, were somewhat hardened and distant. Like one that was trying to protect herself from further harm.

With great audacity, the Emperor took hold of the tie holding the headscarf in place (a pulled thread) and pulled the strings, "I think you can do without that." The piece of sack-cloth dropped to the floor and, from it, came a thick mass of bright orange hair, falling past her shoulders. The Emperor gave a gasp of surprise, shared by Glenroy. Even Renault looked round to see what was going on and Baurus couldn't blame her. That hair colour was rare, let alone on a Dunmer,

"You are the one from my dreams." The Emperor suddenly said, astonishing them all. Then, his resigned tone returned, "Then, the stars were right and this _is_ the day. Gods give me strength!"

The prisoner looked just as bewildered as Glenroy and Renault, "I'm sorry but...I don't know what's happening..."

Renault looked as though she was about to tell the prisoner it was none of her business but the Emperor continued speaking as though he trusted her completely, "Assasins attacked my sons and I am next." The ends of the prisoner's mouth downturned in sympathy, "My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

"Oh..." The prisoner looked neither glad nor unhappy about this, just confused. Her eyes roved over the Emperor's rich, fur-lined robes, "...forgive me but, I don't know who you are."

The Emperor seemed unsurprised by this, "I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim." The prisoner stiffened in surprise and inclined her head respectfully, making her hair fall off her shoulders around her face, "There's no need for that now." chuckled the Emperor,

"Oh...alright..." She straightened up, brushing some bright hair out of her face, "...would you...would you happen to know why I'm here, Your Majesty?"

Still with that kind smile on his face, the Emperor simply said, "Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done, it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

A look of surprise appeared on her face which was then replaced by an aloof expression, "I go my own way, Your Majesty."

Completely unperturbed, the Emperor simply nodded, "So do we all. But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty gods?"

"Please, Sire," cut in Renault, who had just found the switch, "we _must_ keep moving." The wall descended and the dark passage came into view. The prisoner blinked in surprise, though it did not touch her cold eyes. Baurus glanced at her vividly-coloured hair. Only one in a million people would have that hair colour. And a Dunmer having it was an even lower possibility. And she seemed very eager to hide it and did not want to draw attention to herself.

Just as it hit him, Renault began to move through, "Better not close this one. There's no way to open it from the other side."

The Emperor beckoned the prisoner to follow, attracting Glenroy's astonishment and Renault's irritation. Though neither of them questioned the Emperor, they would not look at the prisoner. Baurus stayed alongside her, though there was no real need. She had no weapons and, if she wanted to knock them out with those muscled arms, she could have done so when they came into her cell.

She kept her head down and her tongue still, though, following the Emperor without complaint. She showed no surprise at the tunnel turning into stone rooms and steps. Her mask was settling, the initial surprise of meeting the Emperor fading. After descending the steps, Baurus noticed her hands tense slightly, as though she heard something that startled her. He too strained his ears, hearing nothing but the metallic tramping of Renault, Glenroy and his boots.

They came to another room when Renault gave a shout, "Close off left! Protect the Emperor!" To his horror, he saw three or four armoured people. Red and black, unfamilar, and wielding maces; the exact descriptions of the assassins that killed the Emperor's sons! Drawing his sword, Baurus launched himself into combat. His katana met the mace of one of them and pushed against it.

There was a sharp cry from his left and Glenroy shouted, "The captain's down!" before he too gave a shout of surprise. Fearing that he was the only one left to protect the emperor, he fought on with more vigour, managing to dislodge his sword and slash the assassin's stomach. With a cloud of strange red shimmering mist, the armour vanished from the assassin as he fell heavily to the floor, dead. He cut down another one and was heartened to see Glenroy strike down the last one.

A silence descended on the place. Broken by the Emperor coming out of his hiding place. Ignoring both Baurus and Glenroy, he strode down the steps where, looking down, Baurus saw with a start the prisoner lying face down on the stone, a crimson pool of blood increasing around her. Kneeling, the Emperor gently turned her over, where an ugly wound that looked as though it had been made with a large mace cut into her stomach.

Without a word, the Emperor held a hand over it and began to cast healing spells upon it. Glenroy stared, "I was just going to leave her." He shrugged, "It makes no difference if she dies or not."

"What happened?" Baurus wondered, noticing a slight tremour in Glenroy's voice,

"Well, I'd just seen Renault get killed and I turn round and see one of them about to attack me. Then, the prisoner just jumped out in front of me."

"So, she took the blow herself?" Baurus frowned, "And you were just going to leave her?"

"She's just a prisoner." Glenroy scowled, defensively, "She probably didn't mean it anyway. She probably just got in the way. Used the confusion to try and escape."

"If she tried to escape," Baurus cut across Glenroy's wild ramblings, "she would not have got into the battle but around it. Use your head, Glenroy."

"Uh...well..." He stammered, flushing, "...she's just a prisoner..."

"A prisoner and you owe her your life."

Glenroy looked away, scowling and muttering something that sounded a lot like, "...honourable Redguard..." Baurus sighed. Glenroy was a good warrior but he always found it difficult to trust anyone, _Must have been betrayed by someone he thought a friend in the past. Or maybe he was just brought up that way._ With a defeated sort of huff, he tramped down to the door, under the pretence of keeping a lookout.

Baurus stepped down to the Emperor's side and, as soon as Glenroy was out of earshot, he looked down at the prisoner, "Why did she jump in front of that assassin, though?" He wondered aloud, "We're complete strangers to her and yet she would willingly risk her life for us."

"Which is why she will aid the banishment of the coming darkness." The Emperor said, without looking up. A far-away look appeared in his eyes for a moment, as though recalling something buried deep in his memory, "She will help complete strangers even if they reject her aid. I am confident that the Empire will benefit from her good will."

The Emperor was always well-spoken and cryptic-Baurus knew this from experience-but this made no sense to him. It was as though he knew something bad would happen in the near future but it was the first time he had spoken of it. Knowing better than to ask directly, Baurus instead asked, "When did you see her? In your dreams, I mean?"

The Emperor glanced up, surveying Baurus with his sharp blue eyes. After a while of judging, he spoke slowly, "I dreamt that she was grieving over her dead lovers but, as the darkness came, she stood up, took up swords and charged at it." He was being vague and Baurus could tell that he was like that for a reason. There was no point asking any further.

At that moment, the prisoner began to stir. The wound had nearly completely closed up and there was only a bloody hole in her ruined shirt. Clutching her head, she slowly pushed herself up. After a glance down at her shirt, she started at the sight of no wound. Looking to the side, her astonished eyes met the Emperor's calm ones, "How...how did I...why..."

"Baurus, please accompany Glenroy." Baurus stood up but stayed in the shadow of the tunnel to the next room (closer to the room where Glenroy bitterly sat sulking) to listen the Emperor speak. He did not approve of eavesdropping but being in earshot was not a crime. There was nothing going on in that room so he glanced back over his shoulder at the pair of them, "Hear me. Be the listener to my explanation." For some reason, the girl jerked in surprise at the form of address, "I know you better than many of your closest friends. I know how you have experienced great love and great loss." He closed his eyes and sighed, "Before I go on, I wish to say...how sorry I am." He laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. The girl's head bowed and Baurus saw the distinct glimmer of a tear on her face.

Baurus looked away. Now, he felt like he was eavesdropping. He kept his eyes firmly on the doorway on a pillar to the right but kept his ears open, "They cannot understand why I trust you. They have not seen what I've seen. How can I explain? Listen, you know the Nine? How They guide our fates with an invisible hand?"

"I'm...I'm not on good terms with the gods right now, I'm afraid, Your Majesty."

"No matter. I've served the Nine all my days and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire and every one a sign. I know these stars well and, I wonder...which sign marked your birth?"

"The Warrior, Sire." She was keeping her voice in a polite tone,

"The signs I read show the end of my path." Baurus stiffened and listened closely, _Had he seen his death?_ "My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come." Baurus had to admire the Emperor for showing no apparent fear of death. He had seen soldiers doing anything to prevent it and failing in the end. It had been painful to watch,

"Can you see the end of my path, as well, Your Majesty?" There was a slight tremour of fear in her voice, though it was masked by that aloof veil again. The Emperor disreguarded this and said, kindly,

"Your stars are not mine. Today, the Warrior shall prove a stalwart companion when fortune fails."

"You can see my fate, Sire?" She was more interested now,

"My dreams grant me no opinions of success. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But, in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

"Oh...are you sure that's not just my hair?" She gave a small, humourless laugh, which was shared by the Emperor. His voice was serious in an instant again,

"With such hope and the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

"But..." She seemed puzzled, "...aren't you afraid to die?"

"No trophies of my triumphs preceed me." The Emperor's voice became slow and wise, the voice Baurus was used to, "But I have lived well and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom but not the hour. In this, I am blessed to see the hour of my death. To face my apportuned fate...then fall."  
His words chilled Baurus. The Emperor sounded so sure of his death that he was beginning to believe it himself, _We've already lost Renault and who knows how many more of those bastards could be around here!_

He could not help a glance back. The Emperor was helping the prisoner up to her feet. There was no sign of any wound now, "Where will we go now, Your Majesty?" She asked,

"I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part." The prisoner could stand unaided now and she began to investigate the bodies of the assasins, "Do you recognise them?" The Emperor's question was a surprise. Baurus had never seen anything like them before. An intake of breath made his ears prick up,

"Mythic Dawn!" The prisoner's voice came in a low hiss, full of surprise and rage, "I thought they had all died!"

"They have reformed, it would seem. Your anger and personal grudge will aid you in defeating them a second time."

There was a silence, in which Baurus tried to piece together the bits of evidence thrown at him. It sounded like the prisoner not only knew who the assassins were but had faced them before. She had killed a previous faction of them or at least aided in it since she had a personal grudge against them...His musing was interrupted by Glenroy's shout.

His fears had been confirmed; they were back. More spilled from dark holes in the walls, wielding those same maces that had struck down the prisoner and Renault. Baurus drew his sword, screaming, "Oblivion take you!" One went down in a slash from the side and he locked weapons with another. Just as he pushed back, a katana blade sank into the chink between the assassin's helmet and cuirass and cleaved right through his neck. Another cloud of red and the armour disappeared, leaving the man to fall dead.

The prisoner stood there, clutching what looked like Renault's sword and wearing a robe that looked like it come from one of the assassins. The hood was up, covering her hair again. The aloof expression was back on her face and her eyes were cold. Glenroy stared at her and Baurus couldn't help but do the same,

"Please excuse my attire." Her voice matched the rest of her, suddenly cold and emotionless, "I think it is better than my bloodied clothes from before. I take no pleasure in wearing them, I assure you. I implore you not to begrudge me the use of your captain's sword. I will return it to you when this is done."

She strode down the passage, the Emperor following confidently behind. After exchanging a look, the two Blades followed behind, not questioning the Emperor's decision to let her accompany them. They came across more assassins, coming out of dark holes in the walls as before with no warning. Yet, the prisoner seemed to always know when they were coming by a telltale noise Baurus never heard. Always, the deadly Dunmer killed them without hesitation or remorse. Her blade never missed. It always found vital parts, chinks in the armour that no naked eye could see, and never needed to strike twice. It was frightening to watch.

After another wave of assassins had been struck down practically single-handed, Baurus finally had the courage to say, "Say, ma'am," She turned her aloof eyes upon from him, "you never told us your name."

"There is a reason for that." Her eyes became suddenly downcast, "It is a name of no consequence and it will soon be forgotten."

The Emperor felt the need to rest for a while so they consented to stop. The prisoner sat with her back to the wall, her eyes half-veiled. Glenroy swallowed audibly and turned to Baurus, "Have you considered that we don't know a thing about this girl?"

"We can guess a few things." Baurus shrugged, "She's obviously dealt with this sort before. She might know why they are attacking the Emperor."

"I meant," Glenroy glanced at the girl and shifted so his back to her and she couldn't lipread, "why was she in prison in the first place? She could be a dangerous criminal for all we know. Or a member of the Dark Brotherhood! I don't mind telling you...what I've seen of her suggests-"

"We don't have time to speculate." Baurus held up a hand, "She's on our side and that's all we need to know. If she wanted to turn on us, she would have done so long ago. Let's not give her any reason to, either, by talking about her like this."

Glenroy didn't like the answer he was given, that was clear, but he kept his mouth shut. When they moved on, Baurus was relieved to see the Sanctum, the last chamber before the sewers. Out of the blue, Glenroy held up a hand, "Hold up. I don't like this. Let me take a look."

"I will go." The prisoner stepped forward,

"No, I'll-"

"The Mythic Dawn are cunning." Her eyes bored into Glenroy, making the Imperial flinch, "They may have set up a trap here and my life is worth much less than yours."

Without another word, she stepped forward, holding up the torch Baurus had given her. Her eyes roved all around the place, flicking to every dark corner and crack. Once her judgement was complete, she jerked her head forward. The Emperor, ever fearless of her, stepped forward then Baurus and finally Glenroy. It looked as though they would make it for sure, _Perhaps the Emperor was wrong after all. He won't die here,_

"Damn it!" cried Glenroy, drawing his sword in anger, a reflex of his, "The gate is barred from the other side! A trap!"

Dread flooding him like cold water, Baurus stared wildly around for a way out, "What about that side passage back there?"

"Worth a try! Let's go!"

The prisoner was first to run into the side chamber, her sword drawn, ready for an attack. Her face was now alight with the same dread Baurus felt and her eyes pierced more potently than before, "It's a dead end. What's your call, sir?"

A clatter of boots from the distance. The prisoner gave a cry of warning and Glenroy looked around, "They're behind us!" He gasped, panicky, "Wait here, Sire."

"You stay here with the Emperor." Baurus commanded the tense Dunmer and phrased the next words with more emphasis than necessary, "_Guard him with your life!_"

After the prisoner nodded once, Baurus hurtled from the room. His heart froze as he heard Glenroy shout in pain, _If he's dead..._ Another cry, a female one, reached his ears soon after. He managed to strike the killing blow on the last assassin but was filled with new horror when another came from the side passage where the Emperor and the prisoner were hiding.

He managed to drive the assassin against the wall but, just as he was about to thrust his katana into his chest, the man giggled insanely, "You can kill me! I do not fear death! You've failed anyway!" The hated man died in that cloud of red smoke. With those words ringing in his head, he hurried into the room. He stopped dead at the terrible sight.

The prisoner was hunched over the body of the Emperor, her face in her hands, clearly despairing, "No..." Baurus' voice seemed to work on its own, "...Talos save us..." All that effort, all those assassins killed, all those years of sweat and training to protect the Emperor and now it was all for nothing.

The prisoner looked up and her face was alive with grief. One would almost think she was more upset that he was about the Emperor's death. Her ruby eyes spilled bright tears and her dark mouth emitted whimpers of sorrow, "Forgive me..." She wept, "...the fault is mine. I did not see the assassin coming..."

"No." Baurus shook his head. The last thing he wanted was the woman who had fought so well and who kept them all alive until now was to blame herself, "_I've _failed. The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor; now, he and _all _his heirs are _dead!_" He bit his lip to fight back tears of his own and stared intently at the Emperor's body.

It was not mangled, thankfully. Just a deep sword-wound to the chest which bled very little. His eyes were closed and his face was free of pain. He had seen this coming, he had not been afraid. But a new fear seized Baurus as he noticed something,

"The Amulet!" He gasped, turning to the suddenly alert Dunmer, "Where's the Amulet of Kings? It wasn't on the Emperor's body!"

"It's alright." She stood up, reached up her sleeve and produced the enormous red jewel, "He gave it to me before he died."

"Strange." Baurus put his head to one side, all grief suddenly more manageable when his speculation took its place, "He saw something in you. Trusted you. They say it's the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see more than lesser men. The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown but that's just jewelry. The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

"I must give it to Jauffre." She said, carefully, clearly not really understanding her instructions and repeating what she had heard,

"Jauffre? He said that? Why?"

"There is another heir." Her eyes lost some of their sadness and became guarded again,

"Nothing I ever heard about," Baurus shrugged, though a small glimmer of hope ignited within him, _So all isn't lost!_ "but Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the Grandmaster of my Order." The Dunmer nodded, understanding a bit more, "Although you may not think so to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorrol."

"Alright." She nodded, standing up a little higher with more confidence in her task. She stowed the Amulet away up her sleeve again and untied Renault's sword from her belt, "How do I get out of here?"

"Through that door," He jerked at a thumb at a space in the wall where the successful assassin must have emerged from, "must be the entrance to the sewers, past the locked gate. That's where we were heading. It's a secret entrance out of the Imperial City. Or it was supposed to be secret." He added, as an afterthought, and pressed a key into her hands, "Here. You'll need this key for the last door into the sewers. There are rats and goblins down there but, from what I've seen of you, you're a..." He did not want to say 'assassin', in case she found it offensive. Thankfully, she said on cue,

"A Nightblade."

"So, you won't have any trouble with them."

"Very well." She took a step towards the door, "I will make haste to Weynon Priory then. What will you do?"

"I'll stay here to guard the Emperor's body and make sure you aren't being followed." Baurus' hopes increased at her business-like approach. She would not delay, he knew it. When she held out the sheathed katana, he smiled, "Thanks for recovering Renault's sword. I'll see that it is given a place of honour in the halls of the Blades." On a whim, he added, "My name's Baurus, by the way. You may as well tell me yours, just so I can get hold of you again."

She looked as though she was doing some quick thinking. She was judging him like she had the Sanctum. Finally, she spoke in barely a murmer, "Lenore. Call me Lenore."

Baurus smiled warmly at her, "Well, may Talos guide you, Lenore."

As her quiet footsteps faded away, Baurus was able to put aside his grief for the Emperor and ponder Lenore. Nothing was really certain going on what evidence he had of her but one thing was certain in his mind. That one thing had been certain ever since he saw her hair.

* * *

A/N: So, how's that. Another piece of the puzzle.


	4. Chapter 3: Whispers in the Dark

A/N: The delay was due to the fact I like to alternate updating the two stories I have on the go. If I don't, most likely one will gain precedence over the other and that's something I don't want.

This chapter required a lot of checking and rechecking facts on the Oblivion wiki, UESP. I hope I've got it all right.

**deadfinger: **Ah, that would be spoiling the story, wouldn't it?

**maskedpainter: **I know. It is a bit confusing but I'm not giving anything away yet!

**Miss Lieress: **Yeah. Baurus needs more love! By the way, I loved your Love or Blood fanfic. I hope you'll update soon!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 3: Whispers in the Dark**

_Oleta_

A quiet tap on the chapel door made her head jerk up from her arms. Silently thanking the Nine that they had sent the visitor in time to stop her from falling asleep, she opened the door, "Ah," She smiled upon seeing who it was, "Miss Sigrid. Thank you for coming. Do come in."

"It was my pleasure." The Nord smiled back as she entered, extinguishing the lantern she had been carrying, "I hope I'm not late. Has Brother Martin come yet?"

"No. He hasn't walked yet." They took seats at the pews at the back. Sigrid looked thankful to be able to take the weight off her feet and to be able to set down her lantern. As soon as she had done so, she became businesslike at once,

"Please, tell me more details about Brother Martin. When has he started this? What do you think could have caused it?"

"Well," Oleta sighed. It almost pained her to remember, "you know that these are dark times for the Chapel of Akatosh. No doubt, you have heard of Brother Lucien's disappearance two years ago?" A nod from Sigrid spurred her on, "Then, we lost our High Priestess only four months ago in that Blood Lung epidemic. Brother Martin has always been suffering from nightmares for a long time now. For as long as I've known him, as a matter of fact. Ever since Brother Lucien disappeared, they've become worse. He used to wake the whole chapel up with his screaming in the small hours of the morning. Now, ever since Sister Christelle died, he's started sleepwalking."

"What are these nightmares?" Sigrid asked, taking in every word, "Do you know what he dreams of?"

"No." Oleta shook her head, "He won't tell any of us. I think he confided in Brother Lucien when he was here though. The two were very close friends-oh!" Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a figure ascending the steps into the main chapel, "Here he is! Watch what he does."

In the dim light from the lanterns, Brother Martin became clearly visible. Walking slowly towards the alter, his eyes open but unseeing. Sigrid slowly raised herself to her feet and strode around the chapel to get a good look at his face. Oleta followed her, now more curious than ever now. He looked like the same as the other nights: in his nightshirt, clutching a sheathed Elven Shortsword in one hand.

About a foot from the alter, he stopped his walk and reached out the hand that was empty, "No..." He moaned, "...Lucien, stop..."

"Lucien?" Sigrid muttered, interested,

"He always mentions Brother Lucien at some point." Oleta whispered back,

"You don't have to do this." He went on to the bodiless air, "Stop this madness. Go to him. Listener, go to him. Can't you hear him?"

"Ah, yes, that's another common occurance." Oleta nodded, "This 'listener'." Sigrid nodded, now making notes on a piece of parchment leaning on a copy of _Fundaments of Alchemy_.

Brother Martin was now stretching out the sword wordlessly, as though handing it over to someone. He stayed in this position for a long time, occasionally dispersing his silence by the mutters of, "...Daedra...Dark Brotherhood...Daedra...Dark Brotherhood..." Then, he gave a gasp and stared up at some unknown terror above him, "Fire...burning the walls...a great creature...death, death...get away! Get out of here!" He suddenly cried.

Then, he threw himself upon his knees, clutching his ears as though trying to block out some terrible noise only he could hear, "Please, stop this, stop this!" He whimpered, terror seeping into every word, "No one has to die...no one..." He glared up, as though someone was standing over him, "But I cannot do anything!" He gasped, astonished, "I'm just a priest! I'm not a champion!" Then, he stood and fled from the chapel, down to the chambers,

"Will he go back to bed?" Sigrid asked,

"He normally does." Oleta nodded. This sleepwalking episode had not been much different from the others and they were just as troubling, "He only ever stays here a few minutes. I stay here to make sure he doesn't wander off outside though. Just to be sure."

"Have there been any other things he's said or done? Apart from what we've seen?"

"Well...there was last week when he shouted 'get into the chapel, hurry, before they kill you' and 'Kvatch is finished'. The meaning is unclear to me as well but it's safe to assume that he's dreaming of some terrible incident involving the city being destroyed."

"Hmm." Sigrid reviewed her notes, "people usually sleepwalk because of physical ailments but, if he's only started recently, it may be psychological. He may be blaming himself for Brother Lucien's disappearance or Sister Christelle's death."

"I don't know how he could be involved, though." Oleta shook her head, "Brother Lucien and Brother Martin showed no signs of fighting that day and Sister Christelle caught Blood Lung when she was tending to the sick. He wasn't involved."

"People can still feel guilty, even if it's irrational to do so." Sigrid insisted. Then, taking on a professional tone, she added, "Now, I'm thinking that the daedra and the Dark Brotherhood, both feared by society, represent some terrible secret which is tormenting him. Secrets have a habit of haunting you if you do not confess them. The longer you leave it, the more it haunts you."

"Well," Oleta hesistated, knowing she was breaking a promise she made to Brother Martin by doing this, "he did stray into daedra worship before he repented and came to us. This was eighteen years ago, though." Thankfully, the Nord did not become judgemental and simply said,

"Maybe, it's that, then. Perhaps you should try and make him open up. Until then, I prescribe a sleeping draught. I'll have it ready for you in the morning. Just come round to my place at around ten o'clock."

"Excellent." Oleta smiled, relieved that there was a possible cure for Brother Martin's suffering, "Well, good night, Sigrid. Thanks for coming."

"Good night, Sister Oleta."

* * *

BLACK HORSE COURIER

SPECIAL EDITION!

MYSTERY SLAYING OF MORAG TONG ASSASSINS!

12 Evening Star 3E430

Bruma citizans who thought they had seen the last of the Morag Tong were shocked to discover a number of bodies in the nearby mountains, all confirmed to be members and supporters of the Morag Tong.

Our older readers will remember the tragedy of the much beloved Lavinia Harla when she and her family fell prey to the authorised assassin's guild, the Morag Tong. She, herself, was assaulted and killed twenty years ago by Raeniel, a long-time ally of the Morag Tong with direct connections to them who died along with his unfortunate victim. His son, Saeniel, aided his father and caried his beliefs. After the murder of poor Lavinia, the now Captain Burd of the Bruma guard ordered him to exiled to Morrowind for his crime. Bruma thought never to see the likes of the Morag Tong again but they were sadly mistaken.

Another Dunmer, by the name of Saveri Farem, moved to Bruma just a few months ago as the new housekeeper of Jearl, a long time citizan of Bruma. Her past, it seems, was as fraught with tragedy as Lavinia Harla's. Her family had been targeted by the Morag Tong as well and she emigrated to Cyrodiil in the hopes of escaping them. She was taken under the wing of Jearl and, for a while, lived peacefully without having to look over her shoulder for assassins. Until now, that is.

The first alarm came at midnight on 7 Evening Star when Jearl came to the guard asking for help, claiming that her house had been stormed and Saveri kidnapped. An alert contingent of guards were charged with the search and, only five minutes later, came back with Saveri alive and well, though very shaken. Once calmed down enough, she told her story.

She had been taken to an inhabited camp up in the mountains by a gang of four Dunmer Morag Tong members. Saveri would not go into details of the traumatic events afterwards but it is clear that, for a moment, it looked as though Saveri would share Lavinia's terrible fate.

However, when Saveri lost consciousness, she woke with all wounds healed and freed from her bonds. In her own words, 'I thought I was dead for sure and in the halls of Azura. Then, he realised I was still in the Jerall mountains and, when I looked back, I saw that those terrible assassins were dead.' Sure enough, when she led the guards to the scene, the assassins, had been murdered.

All the bodies were of confirmed members of the Morag Tong, the government-sanctioned assassin's guild based in Morrowind. A full inquiry into the murder has been launched and the Elder Council fear that connections with Morrowind will become even more strained than when Saeniel was banished. Though they recognise Raeniel's behaviour as 'dishonourable', Morrowind's relationship with Cyrodiil has become more tenuous.

The inquiry has gained very little, though. The murderer and motive remains unknown. However, several strange and unexplained aspects can be gathered. For one, the cuts were very deep as though made by a large sword like a claymore. Even more strange is that a tiger lily was laid upon each of the bodies. Unconfirmed reports from the Bruma guards on duty tell of hearing faint hoofprints and seeing a swift shadow pass over the snow.

The Dark Brotherhood is under suspicion as the culprits but gossips have begun to speculate more supernatural explainations. Bruma citizans will remember that Lavinia Harla's nickname was Tiger Lily among the Draconis family children due to her striking, trademark hair colour. Thus, the rumour has begun that the vengeful ghost of Lavinia Harla committed this act as revenge for her murder and suffering.

Though Captain Burd has claimed this to be 'nothing but superstitious nonsense', this explanation is becoming more and more popular. More investigation is needed on the matter, though, and nothing is certain.

BLACK HORSE COURIER

SPECIAL EDITION!

MORAG TONG MURDERER STRIKES AGAIN!

22 Evening Star 3E430

Not two weeks after the first attack, the Morag Tong Murderer, as the gossipmongers like to call them, has struck again. This time, right outside the Imperial City. Right under the nose of the Imperial Watch, no less!

This incredible and seemingly impossible act took place yesternight, when the local landlady of the Waywet Inn discovered four Dunmer bodies on the shores of Lake Rumare. She reported hearing shouts in the distance then hoofbeats going past her tavern. When she came to investigate, four Morag Tong members lay dead. Also, a lucky victim was found unconscious nearby.

Another Dunmer, who wishes to remain anonymous for security reasons, told a similar tale to that of Saveri Farem: that after he fell unconscious, he awoke to find the assassins dead around him. The telltale signs are there: the deep cuts and the tiger lily upon each corpse. An unconfirmed fact is that one managed to escape and reached the Morag Tong headquarters in Morrowind, bearing a unique calling card from the murderer.

However, Morrowind is reluctant to give Cyrodiil any confirmed information as these murders strain the alliance between the two provinces even further. Since the Morag Tong is government-sanctioned, they consider the attacks upon the shady organisation as murder and demand that Cyrodiil puts a bounty upon the Morag Tong Murderer's head. The Emperor has refused, however, since Cyrodiil does not tolerate assassins as much as Morrowind does. Thus, tension between the two provinces are rising to a threatening peak which is coming out in more than legal controversy,

'Fights are almost doubling in the city.' reports Adamus Phillida, captain of the Imperial Legion, 'It's always between Dunmer and Imperials these days. Even Dunmer who are Cyrodiilic born and bred are turning sour all of a sudden. By Azura, if this killer isn't caught soon, I predict riots! But, mark my words, this killer will be caught and brought to justice!'

Captain Phillida's hopes show no sign of being realised though. No more leads can be established except that the killer is Cyrodiilic, inhumanly strong and probably has a grudge agains the Morag Tong. Some are suggesting an Orc or a Nord but that would not explain the trademark flowers left at the corpses. An unnamed citizan speaks what most Cyrodiil dwellers think, 'the Morag Tong Murderer being caught is becoming about as likely as the Thieves' Guild's existance.'

BLACK HORSE COURIER

SPECIAL EDITION!

BREAKTHROUGH! MORAG TONG MURDERER MOTIVE REVEALED!

24 First Seed 3E431

At last, a breakthrough in the Morag Tong Murderer case has come through. The Morag Tong Murder has gathered infamy and many names across Cyrodiil, including 'Assassin's Bane', 'Tiger's Claw' and 'Wrath of Harla' by systematically killing members of the government-sanctioned Morag Tong, leaving nothing but tiger lilies and the distant sound of hoofbeats. The much-speculated motive of this now legendary killer has been unvealed by investigators at last, along with many other clues to their identity.

Another murder of two assassins accurred outside the city of Cheydinhal with the usual flowers and deep cuts. However, what drew the investigators' attentions was that a successful assassination was made by the Morag Tong in Cyrodiil with no indication that the Morag Tong Murderer had even appeared. What was so different about these assassins, the investigators asked? After more questioning of the victims, it was revealed at last.

The victims had been tortured and had always fallen unconscious before the killer intervened. The Morag Tong assassins killed, though they claim to be 'honourable murderers', still made their victims suffer before they met their fate. The assassins that were not touched by the killer made a quick job of the kill so the victim was dead before they knew it. Thus, the motive of the Morag Tong Murderer is obvious: in Captain Phillida's words, 'she only kills those who play with their food before eating it'.

Following this breakthrough, the relationship between Morrowind and Cyrodiil has become less strained. Representatives of Morrowind say that they would be 'lauching a full inquiry about the unexpected dishonourable behaviour of these assassins and making sure this does not happen again'. Though the relationship is better, it is still not perfect due to the Emperor's continued refusal to put a bounty of the Morag Tong Murderer's head.

The Imperial Legion is much closer to catching her, however, due to more information coming in from Morrowind. The killer always spares one assassin from the group, it emerged, to send her calling card to the Morag Tong as a warning. Even better, the Legion has a sparse description to go by when searching for her. For, yes, the Morag Tong Murderer is female. A Dunmer female, in fact, as revealed by Captain Phillida, 'The intelligence we gathered and what we will release to the public is that the killer is a Dunmer, always wearing a black robe and a dead face. She speaks in a whisper only when instructing to the survivor to take the calling card to the Morag Tong. It's not much but it's something to go on at least.'

Dark Brotherhood involvement seems all the more likely, since they reputedly dress in black and it is common knowledge that the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood are sworn enemies. Until further investigation, however, this is not a certainty.

* * *

_Arquen_

_Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?_ The same question echoed again and again in her head, as repetitive and useless as her footsteps as she paced back and forth in the Sanctuary. The Murderers too were tense, nervous. They were just as worried about the missing Listener as Arquen was. And they had good reason to. The Listener was never away from the Sanctuary for more than a day except during the Month of Grief. And that was five months ago.

The last time she had been missing for an unexplained amount of time was three months after the first Month of Grief. Then, she had been missing for a week because she was a prisoner of a daedric cult called the Mythic Dawn. Arquen still did not know exactly what had happened to the Listener since she did not speak about it. Not that silence was not unusual of the Listener. That was common knowledge in the Brotherhood.

It still didn't stop Arquen worrying about her. Her silence was unnerving when one considered what she had endured and, even now, Arquen felt she had only scratched the surface. Over the twenty years she had know the practically mute Dunmer, she had found out very little about her. She had done her own private research, of course, but that led to nothing. Which was even more suspicious.

All she had to go on was the Listener's first name, Lenore. No house name, no birthplace, nothing else but a rumour that Lachance had first found her a prisoner in a den of bandits, summoned by the Night Mother's will that he should rescue her and make her a Dark Sister. When she researched the name, she found no Dunmer with the name Lenore was ever born. It was like she did not exist. Like she was a ghost.

Yes, she was like a ghost in her mannerisms and her silence. A silent, wondering ghost with no past and no voice. Almost with no awareness of her surroundings. Repeating the same old weekly cycle over and over again for years so now, Arquen had it memorised. It was sad, really. Yes, Arquen felt sad for her. She knew there was a woman within that dead shell. She had seen fire in those lifeless eyes before and she could not help but mourn its loss.

Years ago, she would have never done such a thing. She would have been insensitive and impatient to her, disregarding her sorrow and demanding things she would not get from her. It amazed her how much she had changed over the years before she had met the Listener, _All for one Dunmer. One unknown who just appeared in my life out of nowhere. One who saved my life and many others even when she was a taker of life herself._

At last, Arquen sat down to ease her now-aching feet. The Murderers looked a little less nervous now, hoping that she had calmed down a little. Just as she had got settled, the well cover clattered open and a figure leapt from the hole. All the Murderers were present so it was either a fellow Speaker or... Arquen shot up and saw her hopes were rewarded.

The Listener, wearing a blood red robe strangely reminiscent of the Mythic Dawn, appeared and ran to her quarters without a word or explanation for her absense. Arquen stared, bewildered. The Listener never ran nor did she appear in such apparrel. After a moment of collecting her confused thoughts, Arquen hurried after her.

The Listener's quarters was the lowest room in the Sanctuary, once belonging to a vampire from before the first Month of Grief. It always baffled Arquen why she chose these quarters since there was nothing but a cold stone slab for a bed. It could not be at all comfortable. When Arquen reached the doors, she found them closed and locked. Again, not an uncommon occurance but she never went straight to her quarters and locked herself in before,

"Listener!" she called, through the wood, "What's going on? Where were you?"

Silence. Arquen sighed. Not that she had not been expecting this but she was desperate for some explanation. She called again but still no reply. On the third call, she emerged. Her appearance shocked Arquen, making her mouth fall open. She was not wearing the Black Hand Robe she was so accustomed to seeing but full Elven armour. Or, it would have been full had her head not been covered by the same blood-coloured hood she had been wearing when she came in. The two claymores, one ebony and one elven, was strapped to her back, as though she was preparing for battle. What shocked her most was her face. Her eyes were alive again, full of determination and resolve,

"Forgive me, Speaker." Her voice, though almost a whisper, was not rough with lack of use, as Arquen expected it to be, but somehow more musical than she remembered. As though it had been improving during its silence, "I must be away for some time. Take my place as the supplement Listener, as is the Night Mother's will."

"But...why?" Arquen asked. This had come straight out of the blue; this sudden change in her routine hit her like a thunderbolt and she was completely unprepared for it, "What's going on?"  
"No time!" With that, the Listener tore up the stairs to the main hall again, with Arquen running her hardest to keep up, "I have to do something. Don't follow me, I must do this alone."  
"But, what?" cried Arquen, nearly knocking over one of the Murderers as she hared after her, "What's come up that's more important than the needs of the Black Hand?"

The Listener had reached the black door and, turning, she called back, "It's not just the Black Hand that's affected, it's the whole Empire!"

"W-what?" Arquen gasped, actually stuttering at this surprise change in her. She didn't even know she owned armour and she never went out of the Sanctuary except to visit the Night Mother or during the Month of Grief. She never seemed to have any need to. Now, there was a sense of purpose about her. The last time Arquen had ever seen such determination and resolve was when she was bringing the sword down on Bellamont. The last time she had seen those eyes so alive. Now, the Listener was alive again. She had a soul and a reason to go on, _But, what?_ "What's happening, dear Listener? What makes you so adament and active? I heard a rumour you were in prison and escaped-"

"That's right!" She nodded, as the black door swung shut behind her.

That was the last Arquen saw of her that day. Arquen tried to pursue her but it was no use. The Listener was out of Cheydinhal and riding away on Shadowmere before she could catch her again. She gave up as Shadowmere disappeared into the distance, panting and her feet aching worse than ever. When she got back to the Sanctuary, she slumped in a chair, gasping for breath,

"Are you alright, Speaker?" Asked the Imperial Murderer. She could never remember his name,

"Ugh," She groaned, "I'll never understand that girl as long as I live."

* * *

A/N: Yes, Arquen is good in my fanfic. I know; a very big change.


	5. Chapter 4: Weynon Priory

A/N: Is everyone on their Easter holidays or something? I only got two reviews! Now, this chapter doesn't really have much action. It's three viewpoints of the same event though, so it should be interesting.

**Ijinzu**: Something tells me you like Arquen. Every time I include her in a chapter, you review.

**XredmarionetteX**: Thanks so much. I would have updated sooner but the edit function here is being a bit funny.

And, Miss Lieress, thanks for answering my reviews. I hope you enjoy Jane Eyre as much as I did!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 4: Weynon Priory**

_Jauffre_

Today was a dark day for the Grandmaster of the Blades. As he read the news from Baurus, his heart sank, _How could this happen? The Emperor and his heirs slain on our watch! Under my leadership, no less! How could I have failed the Emperor at a time like this?_ He sighed, putting down the letter and sweeping a hand over his head. A habit he had never got out of. Not since there had been hair on that bald head.

It was too early after the death for the Black Horse Courier to publish news of the Emperor's death but a pall of ill feeling had spread across the land like a stormcloud. People were in worse moods than usual with no tangible cause. Even the animals seemed more tense and nervous. Just yesterday, Brother Piner's horse went berserk when one of the sheep accidently made its way into the stable. It nearly kicked the poor thing to death. It astonished everyone at the priory because the horse was a very gentle and placid sort who would never normally do such a thing.

The weather outside the priory was warm and sunlit, the perfect Last Seed day. So why could he hear thunder? A distant, rumbling noise, getting louder and louder. Suddenly, a dark shape appeared on the path outside. Then, he realised that the thunder was rapid hoofbeats and the dark shape was a black horse with a figure in elven armour astride. What amazed him was the sheer speed the horse was riding at. He had seen black horses, of course, and he knew them to be the fastest in Cyrodiil. But the speed that horse possessed was impossible. It was a miracle that the rider could keep their seat at all.

All at once, the horse came to an abrupt stop outside the priory and the figure leapt delicately off, not seeming the least bit shaken from their wild ride. Eronor approached and, by opening the window ever so slightly, Jauffre could hear him conversing with the stranger,

"...the shepherd here." He could hear Eronor say, "Eronor's the name. And this is Weynon Priory."

"Excellent." said the stranger. By the voice, Jauffre could discern two things. One: the stranger was female. Two: she was an elf of some sort. He would recognise the deep voice anywhere, "Please, tell me where I can find Brother Jauffre."

Jauffre started at the mention of his name and drew away from the window slightly in an attempt to prevent him being caught spying on them, "If he's not sleeping or eating, he'll be fussing with his books, I reckon, over in the priory house." Jauffre sat down at his desk, rolling his eyes. Eronor was not unpleasant but he could be very blunt when he thought no one was listening to people outside the priory, "Say, your horse looks like it could do with a rest. Do you mind if I take her to the stable?"

"That's very kind of you." The voice of the stranger, though quiet, drifted up through the open window, "It takes a lot more than this to tire her but a little water wouldn't go amiss. Please, don't try to feed her. She has very particular tastes and doesn't like it if she's given the wrong thing. Oh, and, one more thing, don't put yourself too close to her mouth. She bites. Very hard."

Jauffre took the moment of quiet that followed to ponder the stranger. She was a total stranger, after all, and specifically asking for him was suspicious. Years as the Emperor's bodyguard told him that he should be very careful of strangers, no matter how polite or pleasant they seem. Especially in this time of doubt. He felt for the old katana under his desk, comforted by the solid feel of its hilt. It never broke once and he kept it in very good condition. It was a symbol of his loyalty to the Empire, after all, and he could not allow it to rust.

A knock on the door resounded downstairs and Prior Maborel answered, "Yes? Can I help you?" He sounded as though he trusted the stranger just as little as Jauffre did,

"Please, I must speak with Brother Jauffre." Quiet and polite as always. She could have made her attack by now if she was an enemy but he could not afford to let his guard down. Not now, at least,

"He's upstairs. Go ahead."

Jauffre pretended to read his book while keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword. The footsteps grew closer and stopped in front of him, "Excuse me." Jauffre looked up. She was a Dark Elf, young and yet she had the eyes of someone much older. Someone who had seen pain and had endured much of it,

"I'm Brother Jauffre." He said, keeping a formal tone while examining her more closely, "What do you want?" He noticed that she had two claymores on her back, one ebony and one elven, and her arms looked out of place on her thin body, not bulky but muscled like a Nord,

"The Emperor sent me to find you." She said, her voice barely more than a whisper now,

"Emperor Uriel?" This took Jauffre by surprise. He had only just got wind of the Emperor's death and here was this elf saying she was sent by him, "Do you know something about his death?" The lack of surprise on her face told him that she did. Her eyes became downcast all of a sudden and she inclined her head slightly as though repentant,

"I was there when I died."

Jauffre's face hardened, "You'd better explain yourself. Now!" He gripped the hilt of his sword harder, ready to draw. If she was one of the people that did it...

"I have brought you the Amulet of Kings."

Another surprise, "_You_ brought me the Amulet of Kings? This cannot be! Let me see." He held out an expectant hand. He had been shown the Amulet of Kings and had been taught to recognise a fake. Unflinchingly, the stranger reached into her gauntlett and pulled out a red jewel from within it. She placed it upon his palm and stood still as he examined it.

He had to use both hands, not something he was pleased with doing. He felt for the smaller jewels around it, the tiny nicks where the clips were positioned and the particular weave of the string. Most of all, the ethereal shine and warmth from within the jewel itself. Air rushed into his mouth and his eyes opened wide, "By the Nine!" He gasped, "This _is _the Amulet of Kings!" The Grandmaster was bowled over; he had fully expected a fake from a complete stranger like her, "Who are you? How did you get this?"

She launched into her story. As Jauffre listened, he became less and less sure she was a spy or assassin. It was unlikely and unexpected, all the things that made it believable. Any assassin would make it sound more realistic. When she reached the end, she was chewing her lip, as though fighting back tears,

"As unlikely as your story sounds, I believe you." Jauffre finally released the hilt of his sword, the fingers relaxing on the desk, "Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim would have brought you here carrying the Amulet of Kings."

"Please, do you have any idea what the Empeor meant by 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion'?"

"His meaning is unclear to me, as well. It may be that the Emperor perceived some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion. I do know that the Prince of Destruction is referring to Mehrunes Dagon, one of the daedric lords of Oblivion."

"Aha!" The stranger said, suddenly, as though something had clicked into her mind, "That explains why the Mythic Dawn are involved." Jauffre got the feeling that she was talking more to herself than to him, "Anyway, there is another heir, I take it?"

"Yes." Jauffre nodded, making a mental note to ask her about this Mythic Dawn later, "I am one of the few who know of his existance. Many years ago, I served as the head of the Emperor's personal bodyguards, the Blades. One night, Uriel called me into his personal chambers. A baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. He told me to deliver him somewhere safe. He never told me anything else about the baby but I knew it was his son. From time to time, he would ask about the child's progress." He decided to stop talking here before he got tempted to tell her about how the boy had strayed into daedra worship and his connections with the 'problem priest',

"Excellent. Where can I find him?"

"His name is Martin. He serves Akatosh in the city of Kvatch. You should go to Kvatch at once and seek him out, if he yet lives." He added, as an afterthought, remembering the misfortune that the chapel had been afflicted with, "If the enemy knows about him, which is likely, he is in terrible danger."

"I will go at once." The stranger nodded and turned, about to leave. She went two steps then, in one fluid motion, turned on her heel and lobbed something at him. Jauffre instinctively ducked and he heard the tinkle of glass as the window behind him broke. Opening his mouth about to demand an explantion, he stopped as many sounds occurred at once. Two voices crying out in shock, ones he did not recognise. The loud rustle of trees as though they had been harshly disturbed. The double thumps of two heavy objects falling to earth.

Jauffre whirled around and saw through the jagged hole in the glass two dark figures getting gingerly to their feet at the foot of a tree close to the priory. A broken branch lay beside them, freshly fallen, with a few sparse leaves drifting down. Jauffre drew his sword in a rush. These were spies, there was no doubt about that. He turned around and was shocked to see the stranger smiling. No, actually chuckling under her breath, "Oh, I might have known." She turned her smile on Jauffre. What little of her face that was no covered by the strange blood-red hood was a purplish hue and her teeth were pearly white as she grinned, standing out against her skin, "Please, put that sword down, Brother Jauffre. They're not spies."

"Do you know them?" Jauffre frowned. From his viewpoint, they looked like thieves or assassins with their dark, tight-fitting armour. Definitely suspicious-looking,

"They're _not_ spies." She repeated, actually taking hold of his hands that held the sword and lowering them, "Just over-protective friends. Let me sort this out. Oh, and here." She dropped a sack of chinking septims on the table, "This should be enough to fix the window. Keep the change." With that, she confidently swept from the house, ignoring Prior Maborel's anxious questions.

It took Jauffre a moment to get his legs to move. He hurried down the steps but was not so fortunate as the stranger. He was accosted by Prior Maborel who demanded to know what was happening. By the time he had explained it all to him, he already felt too much time had passed. Sure enough, by the time he opened the door, the stranger had mounted her horse and the black-clad intruders were standing, listening intently to her. He just caught the words,

"...Mythic Dawn along your travels, then _kill on sight!_ Is that understood?"

"Yes, honoured Listener!" They chorused, standing to attention like soldiers before their captain. Like the Blades did with Jauffre,

"Good. Dismissed!" Then, she turned to her horse, "Shadowmere, to Kvatch, with haste!" The horse took this message to heart for, in a trice, it was out of sight, fading into the forest, heading south. Turning back, he saw the intruders had vanished as well. He could just see one hurrying away from the priory along the road heading east away from Chorrol. There was no sign of the other.

He stood in the doorway, trying to make sense of what he had seen. His instinct told him those intruders were not people to be trusted. The stranger had called them 'friends' yet it was clear she held authority over them. What did this term 'Listener' mean? He had never heard it before in his life. Moreover, who was the stranger? He just realised as the thunder of hooves had completely faded that he had never asked her name. Nor had she given it to him.

Brother Piner broke his ponderings by appearing at the door, supporting Eronor, whose hand was bleeding very badly. It looked extremely serious; he was pallid and fainting. Now, the monks were more concerned with hurrying up and down the place, looking for spare healing potions and bandages. The wound was very deep. Any deeper and his hand would have severed, for sure. It looked like a bear or a wolf but Eronor could not have run into one of them unless he had wondered half a mile away from the place and that was near impossible. Eronor would simply not do that.

As Jauffre examined the wound, he noticed that the part-circle of teeth-marks had a too-wide jawline to be a bear and the punctures were too deep for a wolf, _So, what could have done it?_ Once he had been taken inside and tended to, he came to his senses and tremulously explained, "It bit me...that monstrous horse bit me..."

"What?" Brother Piner frowned, "My horse again?"

"No. The black one...the one the woman was riding...I just decided to take her bridle off for a bit...and she _bit_ me..."

Jauffre was rattled. No normal horse could bite that hard, surely. The wound looked more like it had been made by a bear or a mountain lion. Something with fangs, anyway,

"That horse...it's not normal..." choked Eronor, his voice becoming more steady though it was no less frightened, "I've dealt with horses nearly all my life. That horse, it's incredible. Those red eyes, the hard hooves, the sharp teeth, that brutal strength..."

Jauffre had the feeling that Eronor had been shaken for life.

* * *

_Eronor_

_The monks seem unnerved._ Eronor thought, as Brother Piner slipped into the chapel, looking shaken, _What could be bothering them?_ It really wasn't any of his business, he knew that, but he could not help but be a little curious. He could repress his ponderings, though. He had work to be done, sheep to feed, horses to groom. A simple life, really, but he would not trade it for any other life.

He knew who the great people in the Priory were, of course. There was no point hiding it from him. While he naturally envied their prowess and ability, he did not really want it for himself. He was old, after all; what would an old Dunmer shepherd do with a mastership in blade and a thousand amazing tales of bloody battles to tell. No, all he wanted a mastership of was keeping the animals and the only amazing tales he needed was calming distressed horses.

Speaking of horses...

He glanced around, hearing the thunder of a horse galloping at full speed. He knew the sound well, he had heard it so many times. Leaving the ram to graze, he opened the gate to the sheepfold and peered through the small tunnel (he liked to call it a tunnel) between the little farm and the priory courtyard. A magnificent black stallion came into view with an armoured figure astride. Like he always was, Eronor was more interested in the horse than the stranger riding it.

It was truly a brilliant beast. He had seen no other black horse like her (his trained eyes picked out the gender easily). Her mane and tail were glittering in the sunlight, the light shattering off the thick hairs like crystal. Her coat was glowing with sweat from great exertion, _Like a lady should._ He thought. The hooves were strong and light-coloured against the dark body, stamping the ground with such power and strength. The same power and strength that seemed to radiate from every inch of its body.

Still awe-struck that such an animal could exist, Eronor moved closer, through the tunnel and out into the courtyard. The rider (who was female as well) dismounted and approached. She was a Dunmer too but much younger than Eronor. He could judge that from what little he could see of her face, "Do you like my horse?" She asked, sounding almost amused. This, Eronor was used to. Some people found his fascination with animals funny but he never got embarrassed by it,

"Yes. She's a beauty. I'm the shepherd here." He added, though he could not keep his eyes from the horse, "Eronor's the name. And this is Weynon Priory."

"Excellent." She sounded relieved, "Please, tell me where I can find Brother Jauffre."

"If he's not sleeping or eating, he'll be fussing over his books, I reckon, over in the priory house." He jerked a thumb behind him at the house. Just as the stranger moved away, Eronor was struck by a sudden inspiration, "Say, your horse looks like it could do with a rest. Do you mind if I take her to the stable?"

"That's very kind of you." She flashed him a faint smile, "It takes a lot more than this to tire her but a little water wouldn't go amiss. Please, don't try to feed her. She has very particular tastes and doesn't like it if she's given the wrong thing. Oh, and, one more thing, don't put yourself too close to her mouth. She bites. Very hard." She held out the leather reins. Eronor took them, his hands trembling slightly with excitement as his hands closed around them. The stranger left for the priory house and Eronor coaxed the beast to the stable. He was so eager to get a better look at her, he could burst.

Once he did though, he got quite a surprise. Now he saw her up close, she was not the perfect beauty he thought she was. Certainly, every beautiful aspect he had seen from a distance were there; the lustrous mane and tail, the shining coat, the power in every inch of her. But there was terrifying oddities about her that momentarily overshadowed these due to his shock.

Her eyes were not the usual docile brown that looked on with gentle ignorance but burning red, blood-red like a vampire's, staring at him with fierce intelligence. Her ears was abnormally long and sharp, almost like horns jutting from the folds of her mane. The hooves, he noticed by glancing down to try and get away from that glare, had three slight points like three claws.

Eronor had never considered horses dangerous. They were harmless beasts unless they trod on you and it was always by accident. This horse, however, looked as though it could consciously kill. Such cunning and brutality was in its face; Eronor felt as though he was staring into the face of an assassin,

_No, no._ He shook his head, _It's my old age. I'm getting worked up over nothing. I know she'll be harmless. Just because she's a little different doesn't mean I have to be scared of her. _He had heard of disorders in breeding, a strange occurance that comes out of nowhere. It was not her fault; she was just born that way. Maybe she was bred that way in some distant land to be a battlehorse or similar, _Yes, that would fit. Her owner was wearing armour, after all._

Sure enough, like any normal horse, she walked over the watertrough and dipped her head to have a drink. Eronor was too focused on her to notice the other horses shying away as though afraid. He reached a creased hand and patted her neck, "There, girl. You must have had a long journey." A low whinney came as a response. Eronor took that as a yes. He was convinced horses could understand human speech, they were very clever animals after all.

He glanced at the saddle...and did a double take. It was darker than the ordinary saddles and with a strange symbol imprinted upon it as though burned. A black handprint, made with what looked like the right hand. He moved around her and the same was on the other side. He had no idea what it meant but something about it was eerie, chilling his blood, _There you go, again. _He scolded himself, _Getting all worked up over nothing. I'm sure it's only the brand symbol._

She raised her dripping head and shook herself. Eronor also noticed, now he looked closer, that the centre metal part of the bridle was shaped like a skull with rubies for eyes. This time, he was truly shaken, _What kind of owner does this horse have? I'd expect this of an Orc or a Nord but not a Dunmer._ Either way, he did not want to look at it longer than he had to and, forgetting her owner's warning, reached out a hand to undo the buckles.

It happened before Eronor could move. The lips pulled back to reveal sharp, fang-like teeth and enclosed very hard over his hand. Pain shot through it as Eronor had never felt before. Stars winked before his eyes and he was sure the beast would rip his hand off. However, it let go as soon as the wound had been made and vanished.

Stumbling and gasping, Eronor made his way to the tunnel and made out the vague shape of the horse, her owner and two other dark figures. The pain almost blinding him, he leaned against the wall, panting and clutching his hand. Wet and hot blood was gushing from his wound and he didn't know any healing spells. The wounds felt deep and he pressed his other, unharmed hand against the opened skin to stop the bleeding.

Sounds were fading now. He felt as though his legs could not support him any longer. He thought he could hear the faint voice of a female. Was it the armoured stranger or the other black-clad ones. He wasn't really sure now. He slid down the walls, the pain now spreading up his arm. Everything was fading. He could barely move. Never had he felt so wretched and weak as he had then. He thought of crying for help but stopped as soon as he opened his mouth. The words would not come. The darkness settled now and he was drifting...

"Eronor!_ Eronor!_"

A voice was calling him, _Is is a Divine?_ He thought, _Am I dead? _The pain had faded. But, as time passed, he recognised the voices. They were Brother Piner, Prior Maborel and Brother Jauffre. As soon as he could open his eyes, he saw their faces, white and worried. He soon recognised the interior of the priory house and realised he was lying on Prior Maborel's bed. A rustle caught his attention and, peering down, he saw his injured hand wrapped in a tight bandage,

"Thank the Nine!" sighed Brother Piner with relief, "That injury looked so hideous! I thought you'd lost your hand when I saw you."

"What happened?" Brother Jauffre asked, at once, "Is there a bear attacking? Or a wolf?"

Eronor found his voice and, though it shook, he could make out the words, "It bit me...that monstrous horse bit me..."

"What?" Brother Piner look puzzled, "My horse again?"

"No." Eronor just managed to shake his head once, "The black one...the one the woman was riding...I just decided to take her bridle off for a bit...and she _bit_ me...That horse...it's not normal..." He went on, now mastering his voice a little better, "I've dealt with horses nearly all my life. That horse, it's incredible. Those red eyes, the hard hooves, the sharp teeth, that brutal strength..."

The monks around him looked stricken and bewildered. Of course, they wouldn't believe him.

* * *

_Sylvia_

"Up here, Adriano!" She hissed, stretching out a hand. The Imperial caught it and, after a moment of straining, she managed to pull him up onto the branch. It seemed suitably thick and sturdy enough to hold the both of them. So long as Adriano didn't make any sudden movements. Adriano wasn't one for stealth as much as her Khajiit Brother, D'jaa, but he was good enough. D'jaa had been away on a contract when the Speaker had given her the order to track the Listener so she had to choose Adriano. It was either him or her Nord Sister, Wulfhilda, who was as good at staying hidden as she was resisting ale. In other words, dreadful.

Shadowmere was a hard charge to follow; she knew this from experience when the Speaker had asked her to track the Listener. However, she left very distinctive hoofprints, slightly jagged into three small, claw-like spikes. So, by 'borrowing' some black horses from the Black Waterside Stables, she could follow her fairly well. If not always right behind her.

The times she had to track Shadowmere were few and far between. The Listener very rarely left the Sanctuary without warning or a reason. She had been leaving the Sanctuary without an explaination more often over the past three or four years. The Speaker was always very worried whenever she did so and Sylvia couldn't blame her. The Listener had a set routine which she had kept as long as Sylvia had been in the Brotherhood. Go out, hear the Night Mother's orders, pass them to the Speaker, train for the rest of the week and it all started again. Never speaking, never responding, always treading the same path. Unless it was the Month of Grief when she would completely vanish and only come back when it had ended. That, however, was now considered normal.

Whenever she was sent on a tracking mission, she garnered very little information, though, as the Listener had normally finished whatever she had to do and was on her way back by the time Sylvia had caught the trail. She was left with only a vague idea of her location to give to the Speaker. Now, she was better and she had managed to catch her up now. But, she still could not make sense of her being here.

She glanced around the place. Weynon Priory, they called it. A home of a few monks who worshipped the Nine Divines. Moral, holy people. The last place you would expect the leader of the unholy Dark Brotherhood to be. Then again, it was just like the Listener to go where no one would expect her to go. No one knew what went on inside her head. She was a total mystery even to the Speaker, who had known her before she had become the Listener.

Peering through the branches, she saw a window on the second floor with a monk sitting at a desk. His back was turned to her and, opposite him, was the Listener. It was strange to see her without her dark robe but the ever-present hood was a tell-tale sign. It was true to say that no one in the Dark Brotherhood knew anything about her, not even her face.

Still, she fascinated Sylvia. She had heard all the stories of how she gloriously defeated the traitor, Mathieu Bellamont, and restored the Black Hand when it was in ruins. She had seen the muscles on her arms build up after years and years of practise. Why she wanted to use two claymores at once was beyond Sylvia but her drive and determination was astounding. Whatever motivated her must be very strong indeed. She longed to know the reason. In turn, that had sparked her curiousity in her and made her volunteer to be the tracker in the first place.

Next to her, Adriano shifted dangerously on the branch and swayed a little as a result, "_Stop it_!" She hissed to him, _Imperials have no since of balance, I swear!_

"_Is that the Listener in there_?" He asked, dumbly,

"_Yes!_" Sylvia all but spat, "_Now, be quiet! You'll get us caught!_"

He scowled in her direction. He hated being told what to do by her. Technically, he was a rank higher than her but it didn't mean he was any better than her. She would catch up, she knew it. She carefully pushed aside a branch to get a better look through the window. The Listener was turning, looking as though she was about to leave. Next thing she knew, the window had shattered and something was hurtling towards them. It was too fast, neither could duck quick enough. It struck Adriano right on the forehead, making him topple. Sylvia grabbed at his leg but, with a splintering crack, the branch gave way.

The two of them tumbled to earth with a loud thud on the heartlessly hard stone. Stars winked in front of her eyes for several moments before she could raise her head. Adriano clutched his head, moaning in pain. The offending object lay beside him. A tan jug with a small hole in it where it must have struck his head, "You idiot, Adriano!" She snarled,

"It wasn't my fault!" He snapped back. He then caught his breath, looking at something above Sylvia's head. Sylvia's blood ran cold as a shadow painted itself over her. Slowly, she turned around, to see the Listener standing over them. The Dunmer, though in unfamiliar clothes, still eminated the feeling of fear and authority she always did. The equally unfamiliar amused smile she gave the both of them chilled her heart. Now, she did not know what to expect from her,

"Adriano Sagitta and Sylvia Delafleur." Her voice shocked her. The Listener had never spoken to her before and, if she did, she did not remember it. It was soft and deep, used in barely a whisper, "Arquen sent you, didn't she?"

"Y-yes, honoured Listener." Sylvia wished Adriano had kept the stutter out of his voice, "F-forgive us. We did not mean to-to intrude. Our Speaker merely wished-"

"I know what Arquen wants." She waved a hand, dismisively, "Don't apologise for her over-protectiveness. Since you're here, I've jobs for you. Stand up." Sylvia hastened to her feet, hearing Adriano do the same. At least, she was not being punished. The Listener had never punished them, as such. She just left them with Arquen for her to scold them. Still, she could make anyone around her feel uneasy and guilty for bothering her without having to actually do anything. It was a talent she had built up over the years with her continued silence.

Shadowmere trotted over to them at that moment. The horse was just as scary and magnificent as its owner. The eerie red eyes and strength coming from every sinew was enough to scare even the Imperial Legion (she had seen this and found it very funny). Sylvia's heart gave another jolt of fear when she saw that the mouth was bloody, dripping with the liquid. Looking sideways, she also noticed the old Dunmer shepherd sliding down the wall of the house, whimpering and clutching his bleeding hand.

The Listener however showed no fear of the beast, another thing that astounded Sylvia. Instead, she sighed, "Shadowmere, you know it's not nice to bite people, don't you?" With amazing fearlessness, she swatted the horse on the nose, "Bad girl!" Amazingly, Shadowmere did not rear up as everyone expected her to but stayed placidly still. Like her owner, she did not need to act to inspire fear.

When she mounted the stead, she was four feet above them, making Sylvia feel even more disconcerted, "Now then, I have plans for both of you. Adriano, go back to the Sanctuary with all haste. Tell Arquen that the Mythic Dawn have reformed and have become active once more."

Adriano actually gasped and Sylvia felt her eyes widen. She had heard the tale of how the Mythic Dawn had attacked the Listener long ago and the Dark Brotherhood had killed every member of the cult for it. It was thought they were long extinct now. Sylvia jolted back to reality when the Listener began speaking again, "Sylvia, remain here. Stay hidden and secret from all here but guard every person who dwells here _with your life_."

Sylvia did not know whose orders had been stranger; hers or Adriano's. The mythical enemy of the Dark Brotherhood reappearing or being told to defend lives rather than take them? A glance at his face told her Adriano felt the same,

"One more thing." The Listener held them both with her red stare. Another of her seemingly inate abilities. Sylvia always felt as though she had been turned to stone just by meeting her eye, "Should you come across any agent of the Mythic Dawn on your travels, _kill on sight!_ Is that understood?"

"Yes, honoured Listener!" The two of them chorused at once, standing stiff and upright without really meaning to,

"Good. Dismissed!" Adriano turned at once and hurried down the road without a backward glance. Not wanting to be alone with the daunting woman, Sylvia immersed herself into the bushes to find a good viewing point. As she did, she heard the Listener call to Shadowmere, "Shadowmere, to Kvatch, with haste!" There was no point telling Shadowmere to make haste. The beast always ran at an impossible and terrifying speed that it was stupid to imagine that she could go faster. Sure enough, the sound of thundering hooves was soon fading, the sight of the dark horse long gone.

Sylvia let out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding. An encounter with the Listener, no matter how brief, always rattled one's nerves. It took her a while to focus on her new orders. Thankfully, the monks there seemed to caught up in helping the injured shepherd to look around properly and see her. Once they were all in the house, she chanted the Invisibility spell she had learned during her time in the Brotherhood. Deathly Visage, it was called. Being a Breton and a master spellcaster, it was no problem for her to master it. In a small flash of green, she vanished.

* * *

A/N: I tried to give the Murderers names that fitted their races. I hope it worked.


	6. Chapter 5: A Hero Rises

A/N: Sorry about that. The documents manager is being a bit funny and not letting me edit this to put the author's notes. I only noticed when I put this up the first time so I had to delete this.

**maskedpainter: **Thanks! Read on!

**Canna: **Well, I do aim to be unique and not just bash together the first things that came into my head.

**Miss Lieress: **Thanks for both your reviews. I'm glad you liked the Black Horse Courier parts because I was worrying that, without a narrative wrap-around, they wouldn't work. Shadowmere is more of a comic-relief character in this story but you'll see that later!

**BurningShadow: **Just out of interest, what did you expect at first?

_____________________________________________________________________

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 5: A Hero Rises**

"How could the Gods have let this happen? Are they angry with us?"

The same conversation repeated over and over again within the chapel. It gave Martin a headache even just overhearing them. He had taken to hiding behind one of the pillars to avoid those words. He still could not block his ears, though. Those questions he did not want to answer truthfully. Of course, he tried to answer with a positive reply but it was not truthful. He knew it. Everyone knew it. He was just trying to fool himself,

_What kind of gods would let this happen?_ He thought, _I wouldn't even expect this of daedra. No matter how much I pray, nothing happens. No help comes, only more daedra._ He glared mutinously up at the stained glass image of Akatosh, _Lucien was right, the gods can do nothing. To think I dedicated all those wasted years to their service! For what? A moment of conscience and pity for a heartless killer? What an idiot I've been..._

It wasn't the fact that the whole city was overran with daedra. It wasn't the dozens of people dead. No, it was the fact that he had known this was going to happen. For years, he had been taking the sleeping draught Sigrid had provided which had managed to keep back some of the dreams. At least, that was what Oleta thought. In reality, Martin had a habit of 'forgetting' to drink the potion when his wish to see into the future became too great. He locked the door to try and stop the sleepwalking (though Oleta had not told him, he had got into Lucien's habit of listening in on her conversations) and threw himself into the embrace of the nightmares.

He had seen it all months before it happened. The city being thrown down in flames, the daedra swarming everywhere, the dead bodies. He had managed to predict exactly who would die by seeing their bodies. And yet, it had all come to pass. He had not been able to prevent any of it, _Visions from the gods! What use are visions if they can't be changed? Why would they show me something so terrible if I was just meant to stand back and watch it happen as so many people suffer?_

Martin wondered whether this was a delayed punishment for straying into daedra worship. Just when he thought he had been forgiven...

"You think it could be because the problem priest was here?"

Martin's insides seemed to vanish. This was the idea he had been dreading. The one he knew had to mentioned, the one he had wished everyone would have the decency not to mention. Lucien; thought it was four years since he left, he still haunted the place, In rumours, in poisonous whispers, in Martin's dreams. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Martin blamed himself for Lucien's disappearance. Though he told himself over and over that he had nothing to do with it. There was nothing he could have realistically done but his mind still found imaginary causes.

Maybe Lucien had taken his refusal to confess about that dream too seriously and thought he was being rejected. Or maybe Martin should have kept a closer eye on the Bosmer primate. Left to run wild, his mind could come up with all sorts of things.

The same was true of others. There were rumours that he was now on the run, part of the Dark Brotherhood, part of the Thieves' Guild or even dead. Martin tried desperately to close his ears to it. They weren't true, he knew it. They were just made up by wicked gossips. Still, his mind still would not release them. Martin kept quiet all through the slander but all he wanted was shout that it wasn't true in their faces.

_Of course Lucien was not part of the Dark Brotherhood or the Thieves Guild,_ he told himself, _he would never do anything like that!_

_Just like you would never have got involved in daedra worship?_ A snide voice had said in the back of his head.

It was times like this that Martin wished he could just forget on demand. That there was a permanent forgetting spell that he could cast on himself and everyone around him to erase Lucien from their memories. Him and the Listener. Both were haunting him without mercy, sometimes overcoming the sleeping draught and bursting into his dreams when he didn't expect it.

_I'm going mad._ He thought, despondantly, _I'm losing my mind and so is this whole world..._ He ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were itching and his lids were heavy from lack of sleep. The nightmares were going to get worse, he just knew it. The combined hidden knowledge and the trauma of the attack would undoubtably find their way into his dreams. So he had been trying desperately to avoid them by denying sleep and keeping himself awake.

The fires still burned outside, trying to penetrate the stained glass windows. The figures presented were turned inwards, their backs to the chaos as though guarding the chapel. In an effort to take his mind off things, he gazed up at the faces. But they were not the still, stony faces of the Divines he had grown so accustomed to but living, moving figures in the glass. Strange, unfamiliar faces. Martin leapt to his feet and stared up in astonishment at them.

Like looking through a window at a scene, the people moved from window to window like some sort of elaborate puppet show. Yet the people were unmistakably images in the window. The colour had drained away to leave a hellish red and black landscape with wrecked buildings. One terribly similar to the scene outside and, he supposed, to that of Oblivion.

He instantly picked out the dreaded figure of the Listener, darting through the panes with her swords, killing the daedra that swarmed in the image. No daedra could harm her or even touch her. She cut through them with elegant ease. It almost looked as though she was dancing, whirling and leaping across the scene, cutting down any daedra that came her way. Graceful in a terrifying sort of way. That was one side of the wall.

The other was less remarkable, with ordinary background. However, the image of Lucien was clear, running towards a group of black-clad figures. Lucien himself was wearing strange black clothes that looked strangely reminiscent of an assassin. One of the black-clad figures turned and welcomed Lucien with open arms. Another turned to Martin. A tale female with an elven face, an Altmer,

"Martin."

A deep voice sounded from the front of the hall. Jumping in surprise, Martin looked round. He had not noticed the figure at the centre of the hall, where the image of Akatosh once was. An old, grey-haired man wearing the most expensive-looking garb he had ever seen glared down at him. His clothes were fit for an Emperor and he had a face to match. Though creased and careworn, it still held the strength and charisma of a leader unlike any he had seen before. Yet, a stir in Martin's mind told him he had met the man before. Somewhere, deep within his memory, long ago...

The man glanced from one scene to the other, "My boy, you dwell too much on these groundless fears. I have seen what you have seen and have dared to venture on the path of knowledge further. If you would open your eyes and see what I have seen, you would know that there is no need to fear this woman or this boy."

"But..." Martin interrupted, confused, "...she's Dark Brotherhood..." The pair of bright blue eyes glared down with such authority that it silenced him,

"That is what veils your sight to the truth. If you could see past that, you would see much, much more."

"What about Lucien?" Martin asked, his eyes flicking to the image of him,

"Fear him not. When you next meet, he will benefit you." The man started suddenly, as though hearing someone call out to him, "I must leave you now. Trust the Listener. She is capable of great things. Go to her and close shut the jaws of Oblivion." The window cracked and, in a violent rushing crash, exploded. Martin threw his hands over his head as the glass shards flew everywhere in a burst of blinding white light, screaming in fright. A whirl of noise and voices sounded around him but they made no sense whatsoever.

When all noise stopped, Martin tentatively separated his arms and gazed into the light. A shadow was standing upon the windowsill, the shape of an armoured figure. Or, he thought it was. It looked human enough but what were those poles sticking out from its shoulders? It was a moment before he pulled himself together and saw that they were actually claymore hilts. One that was either elven or silver (he was judging by the shape of the tops) and one that was ebony. Still, the blinding light prevented any more features to be visible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the windows around him had become clear, revealing a heavy sheet of rain and blackening buildings. The sky was not an Oblivion-like red but a midnight blue. Everything looked as though it had calmed down. The blackened skeletons of the buildings were now shadows. No fires blazed, no daedra roamed and it was silent apart from the rain.

The figure hopped down into the chapel. At first glance, Martin thought the figure was in full elven armour apart from a blood-red hood. Then, the cuirass changed to the one the Kvatch guard wore, the familiar white with the blue Kvatch emblem emblazoned upon it. He could not see her face (for he could see it was female now) but he could feel her eyes upon him.

Martin took an involuntary step backwards and a shard of the window clattered at his feet. It had the man's eye upon it. That strangely familiar bright blue seemed still alive, glaring up at him. The words echoed in his head, "Go to her...close shut the jaws...of Oblivion..." Looking up again, he saw the strange soldier had stopped. He had been right about her claymores. One was indeed ebony and the other was elven.

A hand extended towards him. Martin raised a hand to take it but hesistated in horror. For the hand was reddened with blood, as though it was bleeding from underneath that gauntlett. He also noticed how hard-muscled the arm was. It was not bulky but it did not belong on such a thin body. Martin swallowed and laid his own upon her hand despite his misgivings. It was immediately taken and the stranger led him towards the light. He was pulled up on the windowsill and stood upon it, as though on a terrible precipice. In spite of the blood, he found himself clasped onto the hand, fearing the possible drop.

The stranger, seemingly with no fear, hesitated for only a moment and then stepped into nothingness, taking him with her. Astonishingly, it was only a small drop to go. But, as soon as his feet touched the ground (and after regaining his balance), noise and colour flooded the scene. He stood on a long, velvet carpet, a strip of red carving through an enormous marble hall decorated so elaborately, he wished he had more eyes to take it all in. What truly astonished him was the crowd. A mass of people on either side of the carpet, cheering with delight. Soldiers in strange, Akaviri-like armour stood on either side of it, their swords raised in honour, like knights before their Emperor. The closest were an old, bald Breton with a two-handed katana on one side and a dark-haired redguard on the other.

What astonished him were the words he heard from the crowd and the soldiers,

"Hail, Dragonborn!"

"Hail, Martin Septim!"

_Septim?_ Now, he was utterly bewildered. He had no surname, as was tradition of priests, and had not taken the time to invent one. Septim was the surname of the Emperors and certainly not something he would ever be referred to. More wonders were yet to be realised. As he looked around himself to find a clue to this strange scene, he noticed his clothes had changed. From the simple, humble garb of a priest to the rich purple of an Emperor. The exact same robe that the man in the window had wore. Right down to the fur lining and golden hems.

Seeing the stranger beside him, he opened his mouth to ask just what was going on but she was not listening. She drew out an enormous red jewel, bigger than his fist, upon a thread that shone as though it was made of gold. This, she unhaltingly placed over his head to fall upon his chest. Martin now found himself raising his hands to push her hood back...

"Martin! _Martin!_"

All at once, it vanished. He was back in the ordinary Chapel of Akatosh, wearing his old priest robe and slumped against the pillar. It took him a moment to realise that he had been dreaming and even longer to come back to his senses. Looking up, he saw Oleta above him and the windows were still displaying their usual lifeless images, vainly trying to hide the destruction outside,

"Are you alright?" She asked, sitting down on the floor beside him, "Another nightmare? If anyone here was gonna have nightmares after this, it's you."

"No, no." Martin shook his head. The image of the coronation had imprinted upon his head, burning into his retinas, "It was just...strange." That was the only word for it. Impossible, far-fetched and just strange. Like normal dreams ought to be. This dream, he was sure, would not come true. He had predicted Lucien's disappearance, Christelle's death and the Oblivion attack but there was no way he, a mere priest, could ever become Emperor. Looking outside, he could see the familiar blood-stained sky, _With my misfortune, I'll bet this sky will never be back to normal._ That was all the dream had been. Wish-fulfullment.

Oleta became serious, lowering her voice, "What did you see?"

Martin started. Oleta was the one who wanted these dreams to stop and, now, she was asking him to recount it like a seer after a vision. His face became hard at once, "There's no point knowing the future. You said it yourself, the Gods alone control what happens. And we cannot change it." He added this last statement with some of the bitterness he had been feeling in his voice,

"Sorry, Brother Martin." She lowered her head a little, "It's just...I was wondering if you could see an end to this."

Martin looked away. He wished he could comfort her but he couldn't give her false hope, either. He could not outright tell her to go away either. That was Lucien's field of expertise,

"You were really brave, you know." Martin gave her a sideways glance when she spoke up at last, "To get us all into the chapel like that. We all owe you our lives." With that, Oleta stood up and went to a woman rocking backwards and forwards in hysteria. Martin thought he ought to go and help her but he was no mood for comforting people now. His mind was too disorientated.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the statue of Akatosh, where the Emperor-like man had been presented in his dream. Akatosh was silent and indifferent as ever, unlike the man who had looked directly at him with piercing eyes and had spoken to him. Standing up, Martin delicately touched the hot glass. Through the window, he could see the burning carcasses of the buildings and the faint shapes of daedra shifting...and two faint bright blue pinprinks.

Martin started, astonished. The little lights were hovering in the air outside like will o'th' wisps, a vibrant clear blue. The exact same colour as the Emperor's eyes. Martin leaned in closer to get a good look. They got bigger, as though coming closer, with startling speed. Martin drew back and so did the lights. He moved to the left, they moved to the right with complete syncronisation to his movements.

Then, it hit him. There were no lights outside at all. It was his reflection in the window. The lights were his eyes, the exact same vibrant blue as the Emperor.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Martin lost all track of time in the chapel. The sky did not darken or lighten but only swirled that terrible blood red smoke over the sky like a veil of clouds. It could have been days or weeks for all he knew. Cabin fever was beginning to take hold. Tierra, the soldier who had made it inside, had tried to keep everybody calm but to no avail. To his horror, some people flung themselves outside in a desperate suicide attempt at escape. Martin could only hide behind the pillar and put his hands over his ears to try and block out the screaming.

Like all his dreams, the new one repeated itself whenever he closed his eyes. The same scene of the Emperor in the stained glass which shattered spectacularly to reveal the strange Kvatch warrior who led him to become Emperor. He was amazed at its persistance. The normal nightmare should have returned by now. It too was persistant so why give up now when he was so weak to defend himself against it?

_Maybe this is a sign of me going mad._ He thought, once, _That dream has become so part of my normal life that it's intigrated into my sanity...and the loss of it means I'm losing my mind._ He thought once, as he leaned against the same pillar, gazing up at Akatosh again, _Is this what the Divines have chosen for me? Is it their whim that I should be tormented by visions and slowly driven mad in this place? Am I nothing but a toy to them, to hurt for their sport?_ He scowled up at them, _Maybe it would have been better if I stayed with Sanguine._

As time went on, his thoughts grew more and more bitter until he felt as though he could have thrown something through that image of Akatosh in sheer spite. The dreams were not helping. Every time, they ended just at the most tantilising point when the soldier's face was about to be revealed. He wanted to try and get somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed to continue the dream but he threw away this idea, _What's the point of pursuing something that could never happen?_

He began to wish Lucien was here. Though he would probably be just as fatalistic as he was, at least he would share Martin's thoughts. At least they could both complain together and release some of their frustration...

BOOM!

The whole building shook violently and a flash of light appeared from outside. Martin threw his arms over his head in an attempt to protect himself from the dust falling from the ceiling and the little splinters of glass from the windows. He glanced up instinctively at the Akatosh window but that was still intact. There was no Emperor, no blinding light and no miraculous soldier come to rescue him, _Why did I expect any different?_

"W-what was that?" Oleta stuttered, staring through the windows. Her eyes grew wide,

"Has another gate opened?" Martin groaned, preparing himself for worse news,

"No..." Her voice was shaking and, after a while, Martin realised it was with delight, "...the sky...it's normal...so, does that mean...?"

Martin had no power to speak. Instead, he moved to the window and stared through the coloured panes. No red smoke hovered above the sky, which, upon opening a little pane slightly, had turned into a mellow midnight blue. It was raining, in a heavy torrent that he had not seen in years. He could barely believe his eyes. The weather was identical to the rain he had seen in his dream.

Oleta stood just as stunned as he was, standing in front of the open window and catching the rain on her outstretched hand. Martin moved to the window closest to the door, the one that gave a good view of the city gates. Peering through the semi-transparent glass, he could see it opening and a handful white-clad soldiers enter. Among them - his heart stopped dead in his chest - was a soldier in elven armour and a dark hood (he could not yet see the colour).

The daedra stalking the skeletal wreckage fell upon them...and fell like broken twigs before the soldier. The Kvatch guard struggled even with scamps but the soldier's swords (there were two, like in his dream) felled even the most terrifying of monsters. In an amazingly short moment, the space between the chapel and the gate was clear. The soldier was leading the guard up the chapel.

The door opened and the familiar woman strode in. Sure enough, the hood was the same blood red and the huge claymores crossed on her back were elven and ebony. A closer look and the arms held the misfitting muscle that echoed her strength. Tierra's eyes grew wide and, just as her mouth opened, Savlian Matius and the other soldiers came in.

Listening to their conversation, it sounded as though they were to attempt a retake of the castle. Martin's confidence could not help but rise when he realised that the soldier would accompany them. Her whole figure eminated an unidentifiable quiet strength, the sort that did not make him question whether it was a wise decision to take on the daedra.

Soon, Tierra was leading the small group out of the chapel. Out of the dozen that had come in, only three of them excluding Tierra were left. Lenka Valus was in tears of joy when she heard she could leave, "Oh, thank the Nine! Thank the Nine!" She cried copiously through her grubby handkerchief,

"Don't thank the gods." A soldier whom Martin only knew as Ilend, "Thank our friend here." He pointed at the soldier, who was standing still as a statue by the door, "She actually went into that Oblivion gate all by herself and closed it! I could barely believe it myself when I saw it! Without a scratch on her too!"

Lenka shakily took the soldier's hands, quaking with joy, "Thank you! Thank you, fifty times! You must be a holy gift from the gods!" She allowed herself to be led out by Oleta and Martin, still delirious with happiness. Martin himself was lost for words by this information. All the guards and all the arena combatants could not push back the invasion or put a successful hole in their forces and she, single-handedly, had pushed them back with those thick arms and sharpened claymores.

Oleta began to breathlessly laugh as the rain hit them full force, "Oh, I never thought I'd feel the rain again!" It was hard to tell whether the wetness of her cheeks was from the rain or from her tears. Martin too felt glad to be outdoors once more. Though the smell of burning was still potent, the rain was washing it away, cooling the fires and cleansing the place of soot and ash.

Down the familiar winding path he never thought he'd see again, they met with High Priest Ilav, who took over after Christelle died. He looked up with his dark-rimmed eyes (now even more darkened) and they widened, "Brother Martin! Sister Oleta! But-"

"It's alright, Brother Ilav!" Oleta was now laughing in earnest, even rushing to him and hugging him. Something that no one had ever done before, "We're alive! We're saved!"

"But-but the Gate..." He spluttered, staring at Martin, Lenka and Oleta in rapid succession (Tierra had escaped back up the path to the city to rejoin the fight),

"Closed!" cried Oleta, "Oh, I could sing!"

"The Gate...but who-who could..." Ilav stuttered. His fatalistic ideas were now all falling through, Martin could see it,

"The gods!" cried Lenka, reaching her hands wide to the skies as if trying to embrace it, "The gods saw our plight and sent us their warrior to aid us!"

_The gods' warrior, eh?_ Martin thought, as they strode together towards the encampment, _If the gods saw our plight, why didn't they send her a bit sooner? _Still, his thoughts were bitter. The lives of all those lost in the seige still weighed heavily upon him and the small gathering in a makeshift encampment did nothing to assuage his fears.

Martin crept to the sides as Lenka and Oleta began to spread the news to the people. Soon, the cheering began and the place, that had once looked so broken and melancholy, was in uproar with delight. Hope had returned to those distraught people but, for some reason, none could touch Martin. Perhaps it was the shock that another dream had come true. Or, part of the dream.

He retreated into the shadows when he found he was not missed. Everyone was too happy to really notice him gone and he would just dampen the mood. He knew he should feel relief and joy at being rescued when the future looked bleak but the dread still remained. He looked up at the now beautiful-looking clouded sky. Rain splashed upon his face, great, fat droplets that one would never normally see around the Gold Coast.

He sat down on the same rock he had sat with Lucien four years ago and looked out over the landscape, his back to the smoking ruins of his city. Half-obscured by a tent, he could be alone to try and untangle the confusion in his mind, _The Emperor told me to 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion'. But, what could I do? I could not have just strode into a gate, fought off all the daedra and found a way to close it. That's beyond me. It takes immeasurable courage and unparalleled strength to achieve that. One does not simply to walk into Oblivion..._

_Wait._ He gave a small jolt as he remembered, _He also told me to trust the Listener. Does that mean...?_ He thought back to the soldier. Her face had been in shadow, her hair covered, but he had been able to see that she was a Dunmer, _She couldn't be..._ His blood grew cold. Now, after years of dreaming and fearing her, she was coming back to haunt him again. It had been twenty years and he had not forgotten one detail of the events in Fort Farragut. Her assassin minions leaving her to mourn alone...the Imperial, the Dunmer, the Altmer...leaving her to mourn a buried loved one...the one she only called Lucien-

He gave another jolt and mentally kicked himself for not realising it before, _Lucien?_ He tried to convince himself that it was a coincidence but his heart did not believe it. He knew this was a connection between Brother Lucien and the Listener. But, what? He sat for a long time trying to figure it out. The Listener's loved one shared Lucien's name. A coincedence? No, definitely not. That much was decided when he was distracted.

Something nudged his shoulder. Looking round, he saw nothing. Then, he spotted two rubies hovering in midair and something shiny above them. It took him a few moments to realise that it was a horse in the darkness. A strange horse as black as night with blazing red eyes staring right at him. Even in the dark, it echoed a strange, frightening strength. Martin stood in astonishment at the strange animal just as a great, almighty cheer rose from the survivors.

Distracted from the beast, he squeezed through the tents to see Tierra and the soldier, now wearing the same Kvatch cuirass he had seen her wear in his dream, locked in a collective embrace from the rest of the campers. Even Ilav was among them, smiling a bright, never-before-seen smile. She was heralded as the 'Hero of Kvatch' and everyone wanted to hear how retaking the castle had gone.

She would not answer them, though. She pushed through the crowd, politely speaking in a quiet voice that she wanted to a private word with Brother Martin. Martin's blood froze again and he seemed rooted to the spot as the Listener advanced. Tierra took all the questions the survivors asked, allowing her to approach. Every fibre of his body told him to run, to disappear into the shadows and stay away from her. Yet he could not move. His legs would not function.

Glancing back, she gestured through the tent at the rock where Martin had been sitting before. Now, his legs worked but they only obeyed her. He followed her into the terrifying isolation and the horse was no comfort. The Listener sat on his left and the horse stood to his right, making him feel trapped, "I heard" He began, managing to keep his voice level, "about how you helped the guard drive the daedra back. Well done." He wished he could have injected some enthuasism into his voice but he was a bad actor at the best of times. Luckily, the Listener did not seem perturbed by his lack of emotion. Instead, she leaned in conspiritorially and said, in her quiet whisper,

"You must come with you. You are in danger here."  
The bitterness rose up again, quashing his fear, "Danger, you say? You came here to tell me this?" He jerked his head up at the still-smoking city. He began to suspect that the Listener was not what she seemed. She was in the Dark Brotherhood after all and this could be a trick to lure him into an ambush, "Explain yourself or leave me alone. There are many others here who actually need your help."

He stood up and made to leave. The horse gave an angry sort of whinney and made an advance on him, blocking his exit. The Listener too had stood. She grabbed his shoulder and spun him easily around, "You are Martin, are you not?" She said and he felt her eyes piercing him, "The priest?"

"Yes." Martin scowled, forgetting all manners and not meeting her eye, "I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you." _Not now that you have spent twenty years as an unholy assassin, _"I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan...I'm not sure I want anything to do with it." The last part had not meant to come out. His bitterness had mastered him and he felt like all of the repressed frustration was going to come out any second if he did not get a grip on himself. Fortunately, the Listener cut him off, speaking evenly despite his rudeness,

"Gods or no gods, we need your help."

Martin's scowl darkened, "If _you_ came to _me _for help, you're more of a fool than you look. Look around." He gestured vehemently at the shabby camp and the blackened skeleton of his once hometown, "What good is a priest?"

The Listener kept a calm, patient silence through his tirade and, when he was finished, her voice was still the same level whisper, "Not much if he were only a priest." She agreed and, just as Martin opened his mouth for another angry snap, added, "But perhaps he would, if he was also Uriel Septim's son." Her shadowed eyes glinted in the firelight from within her hood, locked upon his face.

Martin was utterly thrown by this. All bitterness and anger left him at once to be replaced by surprise. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, "_Emperor Uriel Septim?_" A small nod from her, "You think _the Emperor _is _my_ father?" Another nod. His mind was a whirl again. Although this was, without a doubt, the most far-fetched, impossible thing he had yet heard, there was a small part of him that agreed with her words, "No, you must have the wrong man." He shook his head, trying to convince that ever-growing part of him to see reason, "I'm...just a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer..." Even in his head, the words seemed wrong somehow, although this was the truth he had grown up with. Again, the Listener cut across him, her eyes now penetrating him again,

"The daedra did not attack Kvatch on a whim. _They came here for you_."

"But..." Martin tried desperately to make some sense of this, his voice becoming quite agitated to match what was going on in his head, "...an entire city...all those people dead and suffering...just to get at me? _Why?_" She stayed silent, "Because I'm the Emperor's son? I'm not worth that..." The Listener raised one finger, her fearsome authority returning in a rush, and Martin was silenced,

"What reason would I have to lie to you?"

He could think of a good many reasons but they all seemed irrational and stupid now. The illogical part of him that believed her was swaying him now, "I don't know." He sat down, thinking that his legs would not be able to hold him up much longer, "It's strange. I...I think you might actually be telling the truth." He looked through the gap in the tents, to see that Tierra had finished her story of what had happened in the battle. He saw all the pain in those faces despite their jubulation. None of them would ever recover from this. And, all because of him!

A new fear was beginning to take root now that had nothing to do with the Listener, "What...does this mean?" A note of helplessness was in his voice without really meaning to be. A hand took his shoulder and, looking around, he saw the Listener had sat down beside him. He still could not see her eyes but he felt that she was trying to comfort him, "What...do you want from me?" He asked, meakly. He now no longer cared that she was an unholy assassin. The full fear of Oblivion now took him, as though it had been waiting for its right moment, growing stronger in its absence. She pulled him up and faced him,

"Come with me to Weynon Priory. Jauffre will know what to do now." Her eyes locked upon his and he was met with her hardest stare yet, "Do you trust me to escourt you?"

"You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say." Martin said, glad to at least know what to do now, "You gave them hope. You helped drive the daedra back. Yes." He made his decision. She had kept her dagger to herself all this time they were alone, after all, and, if she were here to kill him, she would not have bothered helping the city, "I'll come with you to Weynon Priory and hear what Jauffre has to say. Lead on."

"Good." She released him from her eyes and led the horse around the tents. Tierra turned to see them just as they were striding through the encampment,

"Are you leaving already?"

"Yes." The Hero nodded, "I am borrowing Brother Martin here. He will not be back for quite some time." Martin had the feeling that she was enjoying a private joke. Of course he would not be back, "Here," She held out her hands to help him onto the beast, "she'll take two." Though he did not like the idea of having to ride the creature (for the horse radiated the same fear that its owner did), he pulled himself up into the long saddle. The Hero pulled herself up behind him, her thick arms moving around him to take the reins, "Now, hold on tight to the saddle and, whatever you do, don't grab her mane. She hates that."

"I've been on black horses before."

"Not this one." A note of playfulness came into her voice, "To Weynon Priory, Shadowmere, with haste!"

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A/N: Yes, 'one does not simply walk into Oblivion' was a little joke I threw in.


	7. Chapter 6: The Assassins

A/N: I did this in the space of 48 hours, can you believe? I just hope the quality's okay.

**maskedpainter: **Thanks! These dream-scenes I do seem to be pretty popular!

**Miss Lieress: **I don't find it weird. I find it really touching as well!

**_________________________________________________________________**

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 6: The Assassins**

The thunder of hooves stopped and, at once, so did the world. The Listener slipped off the beast's back and helped him down. Martin stumbled, not used to a world that stood still, "Are you alright?" She asked, another note of amusement in her voice,

"Fine, fine." Martin nodded, though his voice went up an octave as he said it, "Just need...a sit down..."

He found a nice, secure, unmoving rock and settled himself upon it. It was hard, unwelcoming and cold but at least he wasn't at risk of collapsing. His shaking legs felt as though they would not hold him much longer. He had no idea how much time had passed but it felt like too little a time to get to County Chorrol from County Kvatch. Had she taken a short-cut through the wilderness or just taken the roads? There was absolutely no way of telling. It had all just been a total blur that wooshed too fast past him until he had closed his eyes when he started to feel dizzy. Now, everything was normal and he could pick out his surroundings. Still, his heart pounded as though he had been the one who had run all the way rather than the psychotic creature.

They were at the side of a road at the bottom of a high hill that he could not see over, near a farmhouse which seemed to be deserted. The sky was now clearing, the rain had stopped and the sun was filtering through the trees. The Listener and that demonic horse were both glaring around, alert and wary. It took him a few moments to register that something was wrong, "Is something the matter?" He asked, trying to get his voice down to its normal pitch and, more importantly, to stop it from shaking,

"Shadowmere thinks there is." The Listener murmured, her hands reaching up to her claymores. At first, he was bewildered. Then, the horse snorted disconcertedly and it made sense. Of course. It was a very fitting name for such an evil creature. Suddenly, he heard it. Shouts, clashes of metal and screaming in the distance. A figure appeared at the top of the hill and was fleeing at break-neck speed down it, "Hide!"

Martin hastened to obey, new fear of the unknown coming into him. Enclosing himself in a clump of bushes, he could just about see the figure approach the Listener, who drew her swords ready with a swift _woosh_. One claymore in each hand, just like in his dreams. Astonishing and an impossible feat for a normal warrior. But, then again, she was what no one could ever consider calling normal,

"Help!" cried a voice and the figure came into clarity. It was an old Dunmer, dressed in simple shepherd's clothes, his face alive with terror, "You must help! They're killing everyone at Weynon Priory! Prior Maborel is dead!"

Leaping from his hiding place at once, Martin asked, "Hold on. What's happened?"

Jumping in fright at his appearance, the Dunmer stuttered, "I was in the sheepfold when they attacked! I heard Prior Maborel talking to someone so I looked around the corner to see who it was. They looked like travellers, ordinary people. Suddenly, weapons appeared and they cut the Prior down before he could move. They saw me watching and I ran."

"Did you see a woman in black there?" asked the Listener, who had not lowered her swords an inch,

"Yes! Yes, I did!" gasped the Dunmer, nodding fervantly, "She just leapt out of the bushes and started fighting them! There was another one as well, a Khajiit. You must help them!"

The Listener raced up the hill with astonishing speed, followed by the horse, and Martin ran flat out to keep up with her, leaving the Dunmer behind. By the time he got to the top, nursing a painful stitch in his side, it was over. Bodies of people in blood-red robes, identical in colour to the Listener's hood, lay with slashes and spell-wounds. Two monks stood, swords drawn at the ready. One Breton and one Imperial. The Breton looked just like - but it couldn't be...

"D'jaa! Sylvia!" The Listener gasped, rushing to the side. Looking over, he saw a Khajiit kneeling beside an unmoving Breton woman. Both were dressed in ominous, tight-fitting armour. The exact time associated with assassins. His blood ran cold at the thought of what they were and he took a little step backwards, only to bump into the horse, who snorted in annoyance. The Khajiit's head shot up and his eyes widened,

"Honourable Listener!" He gasped, confirming Martin's suspicions, "You have returned!"

"How is she?" She knelt beside the woman named Sylvia,

"She still lives, I think. She was wounded by those Mythic Dawn attackers, protecting those monks." He jerked an ear in their direction. Both monks were looking bewildered at their company; they obviously did not know what they were,

"Get her inside." ordered the Listener, "I must speak with them on an urgent matter. Martin," He jerked at the sound of his name, "help him." Obediantly, he hastened to the woman and supported her with the Khajiit. He could feel the assassin's eyes upon him and he stared straight ahead of him rather than meet them. The wounded female stirred feebly as they got her into the warmth of the Priory house. They managed to get her up the stairs and onto one of the beds.

The priory house was much like any other, with simple beds and little of the monks' personal possessions. There were signs of someone been in here though. A broken vase on the bottom floor, a door thrown wide open on the other side of the building. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach and not just because he was alone with an assassin.

Presently, the Listener and the two monks entered. All had sheathed their swords and all looked worried. The Breton hurried up the stairs to the open door, dived into it and came out ashen-faced, "They've taken it!" He cried, "The Amulet of Kings is gone! The enemy has defeated us at every turn!" A cold horror clasped him. He had not yet got used to the idea of being heir to the throne but the idea that the Amulet of Kings, the most sacred symbol of the Empire, had fallen into the hands of some terrible unknown enemy was enough to freeze him to the spot,

"I have Martin. All is not lost." The Listener corrected him. He felt more eyes turn upon him and Martin began to wish he had brought a hood with him, so he could obscure his flushing face,

"So, it has not all gone against us." The Breton breathed a sigh of relief. Now Martin could see him closer, his suspicions were confirmed. It was the old knight in the coronation room from his dreams and the katana was exactly the same. Just then, Sylvia stirred. The Listener's head jerked up and she hurried up the stairs to her side. Martin had the impression that she cared about her assassins very much but did not show it often, hence D'jaa's surprised expression. Sylvia's eyes flickered open, bright against the darkness of her skin around it,

"L-Listener..." She moaned,

"Good, you're awake. Can you heal yourself?"

"Yes, Listener." She nodded, a little too eagerly and she winced,

"Then, do so until you are in a fit state to do a service for me." She turned to the two monks, who had come up the stairs in the time they were talking. The Imperial glanced at the assassins. Though he did not know what they were, he was sure that they looked suspicious enough,

"Who are these people?" He asked, too insensitively to be talking about assassins. Martin wished he could give him some sign to let him know without alerting the Listener's attention,

"My associates." The Listener sat down, her inate authority settling in, "I entrusted Sylvia with watching over this place in case of attack. It seems I was right to do so but wrong to let her do it alone. It was fortunate that D'jaa was sent to aid her. Arquen sent you, did she not?" She directed at D'jaa, who stiffened at once,

"Yes, honoured Listener. She felt it appropriate, given our enemy."

"They keep calling you that; 'Listener'." The Breton said, his head to one side, "What guild are you from? I have never heard that title."  
"Oh, you would not have heard of it." _Or would want to hear it._ Martin added, in his head, _If only they knew they were talking to a member of the Dark Brotherhood!_ The dread within him increased as this fact became more prominant in his mind, "That is not relevant, anyway. Suffice it to say that we are on your side at this present time. We share common enemies. Now, we must consider the safety of Martin. This place is not well-guarded, nor is it secret, as we have seen. What place has what this lacks, Brother Jauffre?" She directed at the Breton. All the time, she spoke in the hushed voice, practically a whisper, but no one would interrupt her. She held that power and authority naturally,

"No place is truly safe from the power arrayed against us but...Cloud Ruler Temple, I think. Just north of Bruma. A few men can hold it against an army."

The Listener nodded and cut across what Jauffre was going to say next, speaking in an unchallenged, matter-of-fact tone, "The Mythic Dawn have sleeper agents and spies in the cities but we do not know whether there are sentries on the roads. Eronor said that they looked like ordinary travellers before attacking. We do not know whether they came from the cities, were from outposts in the wilderness or sent by informants. We do not know whether they are simple spies or trained fighters. With our current numbers and company, we cannot take unnecessary risks and we cannot set off for Cloud Ruler Temple right away."

There was a short silence, in which she seemed to be doing some hard thinking. The monks exchanged looks and Sylvia steadily stood up, testing her limbs. Martin glanced from the assassins to the Listener, his nerves still on edge, waiting from one to draw a dagger and show it was all a ruse. Everyone in the room jumped when the Listener snapped her fingers,

"Martin, Brother Jauffre, Brother Piner. Stand together."

Confused, they obeyed, standing in a line side by side. Her mind seemed to be made in that instant,

"D'jaa."

"Yes, honourable Listener." Even the Khajiit's fur seemed to be standing to attention,

"Make haste to Chorrol. I need three sets of light armour. Preferably something light and inconspicuous, like leather or chainmail. Also salvage two hoods from those Mythic Dawn agents outside and get two sets of robes identical to his," She pointed at Martin, "and three hoods of the same colour. All sets of clothing must be identical. This should be enough money to cover it. Understood?"

"Of course, most honoured Listener." He nodded, accepting the sack of septims she produced seemingly out of nowhere, though just as confused as they were about why she wanted all these things,

"Sylvia, can you stand?"

"Yes, honoured Listener." She too stood stiffly to attention, "I am yours to command."

"Good. Do you know if there are any secure inns in Chorrol?"

"Yes. The Oak and Crosier is very reputable, so I have heard."

"That'll be fine. Travel along the road until you find Eronor, the Dark Elf shepherd, and escourt him to that inn. Pay for his room and board for a week and tell him to stay hidden for that week. Also, if there are two chestnut horses, bay or paint horses in the stables, rent them out. Here is enough to do so. Do you understood?"

"Yes, honoured Listener." She too accepted a money bag,

"Excellent. Once you both have achieved your tasks, come back to me. You are both needed for a further service. Dismissed!" The two assassins hurried down the stairs and out of the door with an incredible eagerness to obey. The Listener stood and hurried to the other side where a desk and books stood. The three left followed her, bewildered at her sudden actions,

"W-wait." Jauffre stuttered, "What are you doing? What is this?"

No answer. The Listener's hands were now flying, snatching up parchment, an inkwell and a quill. Her hand flew over the page, ink lines appearing on the parchment out of nowhere. Nothing anyone could say could distract her from her work and none of them could fathom what she was thinking. When she was done, she opened a chest to the side and searched through it. When she brought out a steel claymore, she let out a noise of approval, though Martin could not figure out why. It was clear that the Listener had a plan of sorts forming and she was bringing together all the elements needed.

D'jaa and Sylvia returned about a quarter of an hour later, Sylvia first and D'jaa a little later. The Listener moved her work down to the table on the ground floor and gestured for the others to do the same. Still bewildered, Martin, Jauffre and Piner followed. D'jaa, successful in his task, emptied out the bag of clothes on the table which the Listener each examined with a keen eye,

"Good work." She nodded, spreading out her work on the table, "I should appreciate you lot more. You're useful."

"Oh..." It Khajiits could blush, D'jaa would have gone crimson, "...your praise honours me, most honoured Listener."

It was now clear that she had drawn a map, depicting exactly the two roads betwen Chorrol and Bruma. Even the slight kinks in the roads were documented, "Where is Cloud Ruler Temple." With that, she handed the quill to Jauffre, who marked a place just a little way north from Bruma, "Good. Now, hear me all of you. From when we are out of Chorrol's reach until we are within Bruma's grasp, we are in danger of attack on the road by any sentries, spies or agents. There are three possible routes to Bruma."

She balanced her fingertip on the edge of the drawn Chorrol and traced it along the path going slightly south at first, "A longer route along the Red Ring Road under more watch from the Imperial Legion." Next, the finger glided over the other line, "A shorter route through the mountains but with less watch from the Imperial Legion and more chance of attack from animals, bandits or worse." Then, her finger cut a line between the space enclosed by the roads, "A route cutting straight through the wilderness, with more cover for both predetor and prey.

"We may take any one of these routes without being sure of where the Mythic Dawn may hide. We must get Martin to the safety of Cloud Ruler Temple quickly but we cannot risk attack."

"Surely," Jauffre interrupted, "with a large group, we have a stronger defence against them."

"Numbers do not win battles, Grandmaster." Her piercing stare was upon Jauffre now and Martin remembered all too well the feeling of being turned to a silent stone by it, what Jauffre must be feeling now, "A mouse may prevail against lions where a swarm may be squashed. As I said, no unnecessary risks must be taken. No, we will not travel in a group." She released him and he could see the old Breton visibly relax when she looked away, "We will travel in pairs along each route and rendez-vous at the crossroads. One Priest and one Protector per group."

She picked up the robes, "Brother Jauffre, Brother Piner and Brother Martin will all wear identical robes, as Priests. D'jaa, Sylvia and I shall wear identical armour, as Protectors. Priests and Protectors will carry similiar weapons. Priests shall have daggers, Protectors shall have claymores. All of us shall be either hooded in an effort to hide our faces. D'jaa will have to hide his tail but it should work."

"Um...pardon me, Listener." Sylvia spoke, her voice trembling. She looked as though she had been screwing up her courage all this time to simply say it. The Listener looked up, probably holding that stare on her, "We have some information concerning the Mythic Dawn. I did some detective work in Chorrol when I had taken care of the Dunmer and I found a sleeper agent. He is outside with Shadowmere right now."

A bright, delighted smile spread across the Listener's face, "Excellent work, Sylvia! _Excellent!_ You'll certainly be getting a bonus for this when we are done!" Sylvia flushed bright crimson at the praise and fiddled with her hair,

"It is truly an honour to be praised by you, honoured Listener."

The Listener stepped over to the window and produced an ebony-black whistle from within her cuirass. The blast she blew upon it was so shrill that it hurt Martin's ears to listen to it. When he uncovered his ears, Shadowmere had trotted up to the window, her sharp red eyes glaring at them all. Between her teeth were the bloody remnants of a shirt. A wounded, bound Breton was being held in that terrible creature's mouth, looking nothing sort of terrified.

At once, the Listener grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, tugged him through the window and deposited him in an chair. All with one hand and swift strength. The Breton was poorly-dressed, a commoner, bearing many wounds that looked horribly like bitemarks. He noticed that Shadowmere's teeth were bloody as she bared them, with slight points like fangs. Martin trembled slightly at the prospect of being trapped in a place with some many deadly creatures,

"Shadowmere did quite a number on you, didn't she?" The Listener said, lightly, as though commenting on his choice of clothes. Piner then gave a gasp,

"I know this man! That's Eugal Belette!"

"Sylvia." The Listener held out a hand, "Evidence." Readily, Sylvia brought out a blood-red robe and a velvet-bound book. This was enough to satisfy the Listener, "Found in his house?" Sylvia nodded, "Very well." She turned to the Breton, probably giving him the most piercing star she could to scare him. Whatever she was doing, it was working a treat. The Breton went even whiter than a Breton's wont, steadily going the colour of snow, "You shall answer my questions truthfully for I will know if you lie. Your honesty decides your fate. Do you understand?"

The Breton nodded mutely, though Martin thought it would be impossible to answer under a stare like that,

"Very good. Now, how many are the Mythic Dawn?"

"I-I'm not sure." The man quailed, fear tremouring his speech, "I have o-only been in contact with the Master r-recently and I joined two years ago. The f-forces may have grown. When I was an Ac-Acolyte, there were over thirty. Some were s-sent to the cities to be s-sleeper agents."

"How many sleeper agents per city?"

"One or two. Three for-for the Imperial City." It seemed to cost the man everything he had to say all this. The pain of betraying his side was taking its toll, "I was the only one to-to be ordered to C-Chorrol as far as I am aware."

"I see. Any Foresters and wilderness agents?"

"None. Only the c-cities were under surveillance and the s-surrounding areas."

"Ah." The Listener looked pleased at this news, "This is interesting news. And very beneficial. Oh, one more thing." She added, "What do you know of a High Elf named Eldamil?"

"I-I've heard of him." The Breton nodded, "H-he deserted before the D-Dark Brotherhood struck the f-first Age of the Myth-Mythic Dawn. He escaped the slaughter. B-but he's been brought back. The M-Master brought him...back..." The words died in his throat. The Listener now radiated an aura of anger and hatred. The temperature in the room seemed to drop little, everyone could feel it. Even D'jaa and Sylvia looked chilled and they carefully took a step back. It was clear that the Listener did not like this answer at all. Martin's fear of her grew and he subconsciously moved towards the door.

With a deadly hiss like a snake about to strike, a dagger appeared in her hand from nowhere. In the same instant, it lodged into the man's throat. With a sickening gurgle, the man issued his last breath that came out in a small bubble of blood. The bloody dagger whooshed into the air again, the blood flying off the blade and disappeared into her armour again.

Martin, Jauffre and Piner could only look on in horror. D'jaa and Sylvia, though less so than they, were still shaken, _They are probably used to it, _thought Martin. The whole action was too quick, too irreversable to have done anything about. Jauffre's hand had only been halfway to his sword. The Listener grabbed the scruff of the dead man's neck, not at all nausiated, and held him out the window, "Shadowmere." The horse trotted up, seemingly immune to her fear-provoking aura, "Dinner." All they could do was watch, sickened, as the horse grabbed the man's neck and dragged him outside, like a dog carrying a hambone.

Piner was the first to speak, "N-now, see here, miss! You didn't have to kill him!"

"Neither did he have to be alive." Her voice was toneless; her stare, though sideways, was still as potent and Piner retreated in fear from it. She broke the spell by turning back to the maps,

"From this information, we now know that the Mythic Dawn will not attack from the road. Cities can be easily avoided but that does not mean that any Chorrol agents are here now, spying on us and ready to follow us. Should we continue with my plan, any Mythic Dawn spies following us will have a one-in-three chance of attacking Martin. Should they split up, it will divide their forces and make them easier to fight." She looked up at them all, with a sinister little smile, "Unless any of you have a better plan."

No one answered. Even Jauffre would not interrupt her this time. She straightened, at once her business-like self again,

"Very well. Priests, get changed into your robes and arm yourself with daggers. You will have to leave your katanas here, though we may have use for Jauffre's sword."

No one spoke throughout that time. The three priests went into Jauffre's secret room where the Amulet had been hidden and Jauffre and Piner got changed into grey robes. All Martin had to do was put on the hood and strap the dagger provided to his side. He kept his back to the other two, who were talking worriedly in conspiritorial whispers, "_She just killed him like that. Squashed him like a cockroach under her foot. Treated him just like that was all he was as well. Can she really be trusted, Brother? We haven't even seen her face or know her name._"  
"_She said it herself that she's on her side and it was an enemy spy..._"

Martin tried to tune himself out like he had done in the Chapel in Kvatch. Part of him wanted to believe them and immerse himself in fear and distrust of the Dark Brotherhood member. Part of him wanted to ignore them and carry on trusting the mysterious warrior. The same part of him that told him to believe her when she said he was the Emperor's son and that he should trust her not to thrust a dagger in his throat when he wasn't looking.

When we went downstairs, he found the Listener and the two assassins dressed in leather armour and carrying packs. Three claymore-shaped packs were slung onto their backs. The sky was darkening outside. From a distance and in the dark, they would all look the same. He supposed so would he, Piner and Jauffre. It was a good plan, he had to admit, but he wondered how she managed to get those good planning skills from. From a general cool head and logical thinking...or from experience of planning high-profile assassinations?

They all gathered in the ground floor. Jauffre looked rather self-conscious without his sword, that was concealed in one of the claymore packs. Piner's eyes were twitching nervously towards the stain of blood on the chair where the sleeper agent had sat. The Listener stood beside the door, authoritative but with less fear-provoking aura,

"Now, we must decide which path Martin shall take. Only when we are all together may we move past the crossroads to County Bruma. Therefore, we do not want him to be the very first person to reach the crossroads since it puts him in one position for an unknown amount of time. Nor do we wish him to be the last one since, if something were to go wrong, we would have to wait longer to realise it. Therefore, I suggest that I go with Martin through the wilderness path. Sylvia shall accompany Brother Jauffre and D'jaa shall be with Brother Piner. The Priests shall ride the horses that shall carry our packs and the Protectors shall walk on foot. Are we all agreeable?"

It was clear by her tone that it was not meant to be a threat but her demeanor created by that murder just made it so. No one made a sound again. Martin's dread rose to a new peak at the idea of having to travel for an unknown amount of time with her. Jauffre and Piner looked as though they did not like this arrangement either but both stayed quiet, "Come."

She opened the door and came out into the chill night air. Each Priest mounted a horse sedately and, with a silent nod of farewell to each other, went their seperate ways. Martin tried not to look at the shape of Shadowmere bending her head down as though grazing. Grazing on the body of the Mythic Dawn agent. Though he was utterly sickened by such a gruesome end, he could not help but feel that she was justified in doing it. They had killed the Emperor after all and were after him. Why on Nirn should he be so sympathetic?

He kept his eyes on the chestnut horse's mane for a long time, keeping his head down to avoid low branches and trying not to be afraid of his companion. All the while, he weighed the good and the bad of the Listener. On the one hand, she had closed the Kvatch Oblivion gate, drove the daedra back and saved the city. On the other hand, she was a ruthless assassin, trained to kill and not averse to doing so.

Still, that part of him, that irrational part of him that believed he was heir to the throne, told him to keep trusting her. The Emperor's words echoed in his head, "_Trust the Listener. She is capable of great things...If you would open your eyes...you would know there is no need to fear this woman..._" Now, another mystery was unfolding. The Emperor had hinted that there was more to the Listener than meets the eye, _What did he mean by that? What else is there to know?_ She had been part of the Dark Brotherhood for twenty years or more, he knew that much. She had been mourning over a lover that shared Lucien's name.

Nothing new. No new information had come to him in the time he knew her. Except perhaps that Listener was a position of authority and she had several cold-blooded killers at her beck-and-call. This new-realised revelation made him even more terrified of her. Piner and Jauffre were alone with one of them, after all. Did they have knives hidden in their armour as she did, ready to whip out and kill in less than a second. Was it tradition in the Dark Brotherhood? It wouldn't surprise him.

He tried not to think of the Dark Brotherhood; he did not want the Listener to see him sweat with fear. He tried to think of any other facts about her that did not concern it. She was strong, capable of wielding two claymores at once, a feat no one had ever achieved in known history. Not even Orcs or Nords. He wondered absently if there was some Nord blood in her family to give her the potential.

She kept her face hidden at all times under that hood. He remembered vividly what had been underneath when he had ventured into Fort Farragut on that fateful day. Those long, thick locks of bright orange hair, as brightly orange as a tiger lily, standing out against the black of her robes. With such distinct and eye-catching colour, it was hardly surprising she hid it all the time in an effort not to look conspicuous. But why hide it all the time? Surely she was not that paranoid that she thought the Mythic Dawn would pop out any minute? Or, perhaps, it was something else...?

It was pointless. The more he wondered about her, the more unanswered questions came up. No answers, just questions.

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A/N: So, how was that?


	8. Chapter 7: The Lonely Shadow

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay! It's just that I tried writing out this chapter on paper before attempting the typing. Turns out my writing is a one-shot only thing and I can't write as well. I hope this is okay, though. I'm moving on to some Farwil stuff now. I'll leave Martin for a moment.

**maskedpainter:** Thanks!

**Mr Happy XD:** Thanks for your review. I'm thankful for any feedback and doubly thankful for plaguing me with it.

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 7: The Lonely Shadow**

The Newlands Lodge was noisy, full of rowdy and drunken customers as ever. It became even more so when the Knights of the Thorn paraded in through the door, cheering like they had just come victorious from a glorious battle. They sat at their usual round table and the landlady brought them all Tamika Vintage with her usual flirty smile and wink.

Soon, they were singing and cheering raucously, eyeing the women and doing everything that would get them thrown out of an ordinary tavern. Of course, this was the Newlands Lodge and, until the guard came in, they and the other patrons could do what they wanted.

Farwil sat moodily between Bremman and Jhared. He had been forbidden from touching a drop of drink for a week by his father, who had just about had enough of carrying his son to his room every night. To make matters worse, he had enlisted the help of new-recruit Bremman to enforce this. Bremman was an ex-Fighters' Guild member; as a result, he was uptight and serious. A real mood-damper on a night out. Farwil wondered whether the Fighters' Guild were all forbidden to touch alcohol themselves, since he didn't know anyone but him who would outright refuse a cup of wine among friends, _What is the point of being a knight if I cannot celebrate my exertions afterwards?_

Being sober was one thing but sober in the Newlands Lodge surrounded by the rest of his Knights was quite another. They were all downing the Tamika by the bottle and getting progressively louder. As more disappeared, the taunts in his direction increased and no amount of threats could assuage them. Nor could Bremman's mutters to ignore them calm him. He began to feel resentment towards his father's decision. He wasn't a bad drunk, he just collapsed before he could get up to his room. And that wasn't so bad for anyone else apart from him, who would have the headache in the morning.

Though, looking back on that evening, Farwil was glad he had forgone the drink.

For, just as he felt about ready to get up and leave with all intentions to reason with his father to lift his ban, the door opened. He barely noticed it at first, for the Newlands Lodge door was always thrown open and he had never seen it opened so quietly and slowly. It did not open all the way, either, but just a crack. Just enough to let a shadow through. No, it was not a shadow but a dark-robed figure, hooded and silent.

The stranger passed through the bar practically unnoticed. Such a quiet person was unheard of in the Newlands Lodge and unnoticed by all the other patrons. She (for he could see it was female) passed by as though she were invisible. Not even the landlady stopped to talk when she saw her. Nor did she need to talk. No words were exchanged but the stranger took a bottle of wine from the bar, dropped a few coins on the table and retreated to a far corner of the room. She went straight past the Knights of the Thorn, right past Farwil, so close that her robe sleave brushed against his face. The corner was in shadow so she became even more invisible than before. Without a glance around or a word, she uncorked the bottle, poured some of the liquid into a silver goblet and took a sip.

All this was done with no flourish and nothing to draw attention. Yet this was was what made Farwil unable to take his eyes off her. Her ladylike dignity belonged in a castle and not the rowdy Newlands Lodge. Her dark robe allowed her to blend into the shadows so she was almost invisible and, indeed, she might have been for all the notice others were paying to her. He stopped the landlady and asked, "Who's that?"

A shadow passed over her face when she saw who he was pointing at, "Ah, nobody knows. Never shows her face, never tells anyone her name. By Azura, she never speaks at all! But, every year, on this exact same day and exact same time, she's in here. Just for a couple of hours. Only has the one bottle. Then, she just leaves. The same every year. Round here, we call her 'the Lonely Shadow'. Because she always looks so lonely." A note of sympathy appeared in her voice, "I really wish someone would go and talk to her for once. It might cheer her up a bit. And I like my customers happy and cheerful." She sent a very significant look at Farwil as she said this before moving on to the table of Nords to serve them their belated ale.

Farwil looked back to her. Yes, she did look lonely, especially sitting at that table that was set for two. He was torn between staying with his drunken 'friends' and trying to socialise with a stranger. But a glance at his now-stumbling Knights (and witnessing an Altmer empty the contents of his stomach near him) was enough to make him decide it was time to move. Trying to achieve her invisibility trick (with very poor results), he slipped out of his chair and approached her. She did not even look up or seem to notice her visitor. She simply sipped her wine with the same royal grace and only half her face betraying her race - a Dunmer, like himself.

All too soon, he had reached her table and realised that he had no idea what to say. Not even a good introduction. She did not even look up until he finally forced words out of himself, "Hi, there." She looked up, showing no surprise. Her eyes were in shadow but he could feel them upon him like a spotlight. Her silence lengthened and the prickling feeling of embarrassment started at the back of his neck, "Is-is that seat taken?"

Her head shook side to side once or had it been the firelight flickering? It had been such a small movement. Nevertheless, Farwil slipped into the seat opposite her, in an effort to feel less like he was on stage. He kept his back to the rest of the tavern because he did not want anyone staring at him, "Uh..." He felt the heat creep up his neck as she continued to say nothing, "...I haven't see you in here before..."

"I am not normally seen in here." Her voice was barely a whisper, barely audible in the noisy bar. He didn't even know that she had spoken for a moment. Her voice was the deep wont of a elf, a low, melodic murmer, "A sober eye is needed to see me." Another sip and she was in silence once more. Farwil, feeling hot around the neck again, blurted out,

"I'm...Farwil, by the way. Farwil Indarys, son of Count Andel Indarys. What's your name?"

"You do not need to know." She said, putting down her goblet and lowering her head slightly, "It will soon be forgotten." Farwil was astonished by this answer to say the least and, before he could stop himself, the words came out,

"I won't forget you."

_Of all the stupid things to say..._The heat was now becoming unbearable, reaching up his neck and into his face. He felt her eyes upon him again, holding him with an invisible stare. His voice, that had once been so uncontrollable, now stopped altogether and he felt as though a thousand eyes were upon him. He could barely move for embarrassment and, the more he stayed there, the more embarrassed he felt. He started to wish he had endured his knights.

Finally, after a few more sips of wine, he was released and she spoke, "You are a Count's son and a Knight. The perfect source of trivial information." She set down the goblet again and clasped her hands upon her lap, "If you please, pretend I am an immigrant, fresh off the boat from Morrowind. I have read all the wrong books and any true information I managed to find is twenty years out of date. Enlighten me on everything and anything you can think of, no matter how trivial it may seem to you. In addition, pretend I have been totally deaf from birth so I have developed perfect lip-reading and yet cannot respond beyond 'yes' and 'no'. I know what you say but cannot respond, if you will. You can start by telling me what your father is Count of."

It took Farwil a few seconds to take this in and then, grateful for a way out of those silences, launched into an explanation about how his family came to Cheydinhal. The girl listened attentively, without interrupting, and took fewer sips from her goblet. The more he talked, the less embarrassed he felt so he went on about even trivial things about everyday life of Cheydinhal, the Knights of the Thorn and his own life. Never did she interrupt or seem bored, but listened patiently, drinking in every word.

Suddenly, the chapel bell tolled midnight and she stood up suddenly as though someone had called her name, "Duty calls." She said, shortly, when he opened his mouth to ask,

"Wh-what?" Farwil was thrown by this sudden movement and could not piece anything together beyond 'what',

"I must return to my work." She said and began to walk towards the door,

"Right now?" He stumbled to his feet, knocking over the chair in the process, "Can't you stay a bit longer?"

She halted her pace and turned her head so she was looking at him sideways. Again, he began to feel like he was on stage; she was holding him with those eyes again and the heat was coming back. A humourless smile appeared on her dark lips, the only bit of her face he could see clearly,

"If I stay, I could get you drunk as a Nord on payday and rob you blind somewhere. Or, I could take you off and murder you where no one could hear you scream. Or, I could simply get you into bed when you're completely out of your senses."

"You-you wouldn't..." Farwil gaped,

"You're right. _I _wouldn't. But I could have for all you knew. Listen, you're a good clean knight full of chivalry and daring ideas, with a sharp sword in one hand and a strong shield in the other. I'm no good for you. A hooded stranger you meet in a bar is something you avoid. Surely a little boy knows that. Now, leave me be. There are damsels in distress out there waiting for you."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door with the same ladylike grace as ever. His brain seemed to think ten times slower than normal but his legs worked on their own, following her and making him push back the other knights to do so. Later, he wondered how she could slip past them without drawing their attention and yet they stared when he did the same. Desperate for something to say, he blurted out, "You're a damsel!" He wished he had stayed silent when she turned her head again. Only then did he realise that the whole tavern was silent and everyone was watching him. He was beginning to wish that the ground could open up and swallow him whole.

What really made his cheeks burn was a humourless chuckle for her, "I can handle my own distress. Take care."

She pulled the door open. Just as she was about to disappear into the night, Farwil's voice made its most daring rebellion yet and forced out, "And, I'm forty, I'll have you know!"

_Click._ The sound of the door closing reverberated through the silent room.

Suddenly, the tavern was alive with noise again. But the wrong kind of noise; bursts of laughter from all directions. The heat in his face was its worst yet and he felt more than ever like he had forgotten an important line on stage. Turning despite himself, he saw the Knights of the Thorn falling about, howling with laughter. Even Bremman was sniggering behind his hands.

Jhared clapped his shoulder, staggering with either drink or mirth, "Th-that was hilarious!"

The ill Altmer came up from under the table, "She shot you down in a fireball!"

"Ah, don't you worry." Jhared was now leaning on Farwil in hysterics, "Don't you worry. There are plenty of girls round 'ere for yer!" She gave a saucy wink to the tittering landlady,

"Yeah!" The Altmer shouted, "Ones that are normal!"

`Growing hotter and hotter, Farwil whipped round on the half-formed idea of following her. He didn't think he had ever been so humiliated in his life. Leaving behind the jeering knights, he marched outside, feeling that his face would start glowing with the heat. Closing the door much less gracefully than she, he jerked his head around for her. At once, he hated her for wearing black robes because she had completely vanished.

Rather than answer to the approaching guard, he marched up the hill towards the castle, keeping his head down so he didn't have to talk to anyone. He shoved the doors open, kicked the maid's cat and slammed the door to his room. Once in the lonely silence, he threw himself into a chair by the fire, sulking, _You idiot, Farwil! You must have looked so stupid to her!_

"Farwil." His father was behind the door. Scowling at the intrusion and not caring for courtesy, he snarled,

"Go away!"

Contrary to public opinion, Andel Indarys was not one to give way to temper so easily, especially with his son. He did not take offence at the rudeness but audaciously opened the door. The firelight threw the gentle wrinkles in his father's face into relief and glinted off the golden threads in his clothes. His face held no surprise or offence, "Now, Farwil, I know you don't like going a night sober but-"

"Who _cares_ about that?" snapped Farwil, glaring determinedly at the fire as though it was the one who had done him a personal wrong. He could hear a chair scrape and, glancing around, saw his father take a seat beside him, "Go away." He snarled again. He did not want his father to start interrogating him, as he knew would happen, and sure enough,

"What happened?"

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His knights had never let him forget it. As a year passed, the taunts grew worse. They would approach him whenever they were drunk enough to give him suggestions of what to say to her and jokingly offered to help him practise. Only Bremman tried to fend them off but each comment stung him like a swarm of bees. No amount of instructions to ignore them could rid himself of the wound to his ego he took. He would not tell his father about this. No, he most certainly would not. He would not hide behind the Count; he would never hear the end of it.

So, a year after that night, they were at their worst. Bremman had foolishly decided to have an early night too so they could be as unrestrained as they liked. The last straw was when Jhared volunteered to go to her and formally introduce him in the most patronising voice he had ever used. He had just snapped, it was all he could take. He told Jhared something he would never say in front of his father and stormed off

Fury pounded in him all the way, in time with his strides. He felt his face redden with anger, _How dare they? How dare they insult their leader?_ The streets were deserted and only the flames in the streetlamps provided any light. He had no idea where he was going but anywhere was better than with those ingrates, those idiots, those...The list went on.

At last, Farwil stopped at the wall near the graveyard. The initial rage had subsided and he was thinking a little more clearly. He slowed to a halt and found himself panting. He was sure he had not gone that far. Was rage really that exhausting? Leaning against the small wall, he could hear the familiar raucous shouts in the distance from the Newlands Lodge and a small ache for the usual fun made him wish he had put up with it. He would not think this way when he was on the receiving end but, when he was alone, he wished he could be more resiliant to their taunting.

He thought of the woman and found he could not feel angry at her for making him the subject of ridicule like this, _She's probably already forgotten me._ He thought, _She must have thought I was such an idiot. I could barely piece a sentence together in front of her._ Like she said, someone you meet in a tavern who would not show their face is someone you avoid. Common sense tells that. So, why couldn't he stop thinking of her?

She had looked so lonely in the Newlands Lodge. Was it because he felt sorry for her? Still, she did not want company, that was clear. Why had she put up with him for that long, then? He had tried to find her again after that but she was just as elusive as the Gray Fox and seemed to know no one in town. A traveller, perhaps? Or an immigrant, like she said?

The one lead he had was that one of the guards had seen her striding up into the hills east of town after she had left the Newlands Lodge. The only things there were a few ruins.

Then, the shadows came to life before him. Within them was movement, very slow and silent movement. There was no wind, the night air was still, so it could not have been something blowing about. It got closer and closer and suddenly all the warnings he had received about midnight attackers came to him. He put his hand on his sword and tensed, ready for any attack. That hand loosened when a humourless chuckle he recognised came from the darkness,

"Are you going to attack me, Sir Knight?"

The robed woman appeared from the darkness, her dark lips curved upwards into a soulless smile and her arms folded. Farwil gaped. Never had he expected to encounter her out here. Had she seen him storm off and followed him? Or had she been there all the time and he'd walked right past? The shadows were perfect cover for someone like her and she was probably very good at it,

"You...what are you...?" Again, he felt his face grow hot as she held him with her stare,

"I just thought a change in routine would do me good." Her voice was the same low almost-whisper, as though she was afraid of being overheard, "I believe it might do you some good as well. Some time away from those foulweather friends of yours would be good. Not that I'm much better." She added, seemingly to herself,

"You were watching?"

"I did not need to be watching." She strode soundlessly to him and sat on the low wall to the graveyard, _How can she move so quietly? _"Knights, as a rule, are rather loud people and have no concept of their own noise." Farwil's face flushed and stared at the ground, _Was I really that loud?_ He supposed he might have been to her. Her next comment made him look up, "I have noticed that this year."

"You were...?"

"I've been getting out a bit more. I've had enough of just hiding in the shadows all the time."

"But...I didn't see you..."

"You did not need to see me." Her smile became more amused as his face grew more hot, "I can be unseen if I wish and shadow is my sanctuary. I have had enough of blending into the walls of the Newlands Lodge though. Especially since it's a nice night."

"Oh." was all Farwil could say. Silence settled again, in which she held him with her invisible stare again. After a moment, she put her head to one side slightly,

"I would have thought you would have dived headfirst into the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn. What made you want to come here to this noiseless, sober part of town?"

She was mocking him; not the hard stinging way that the knights did but a more subtle, playful sort of way with a touch of her usual emotionlessness. Something Farwil could handle. Still, he had to answer her question. That was the hard part. After a moment's thought, he realised he could not think of a suitable lie so all he could do was say the truth, "I got barred. There was this Orc that was really annoying me..."

"No need to say anymore." She held up a dark-gloved hand, "I can tell it's going to be an embarrassing tale that you regretted afterwards. That's all I need to know." Farwil blinked at this consideration. Again, she did exactly the opposite of what he expected of her. Was there any way to predict her behaviour? She fell into silence again, still as a shadow. Feeling the familiar hot flush around his neck, he forced himself into speech again,

"So...are you planning on...going anywhere...?" He tried to make it not sound like an invitation but failed miserably. The blood rushed to his face when she said,

"I'll accompany you, if you do not mind, then."

So, they strode aimlessly around the graveyard and past the chapel. The light from the lamps outside fell upon the surrounding houses but, thankfully, left the abandoned houser in shadow. Farwil didn't know why but he always got a strange chill whenever he passed that place. One he did not like one bit. Those gaping windows, the timbers lying dead on the overgrown lawn and the devastated wall. He halted and shivered slightly, as though a cold wind had rushed by him,

"Something wrong?" She amazingly did not seem at all bothered by it,

"I wish someone would get rid of it." Farwil muttered, half to himself, "It's an eyesore and it's creepy. I keep telling Father to do something about it but he won't even talk about it."

She was silent for a moment and, without turning round, she murmered, "One man's eyesore may be another woman's safehaven." Without another word, she strode on, leaving Farwil in confusion again. It was a while of bewilderment before he realised his legs were supposed to move. He hurried to close the gap between them and found she had stopped outside Riverview.

The place was ablaze with lights, as always, and sounds of merriment echoed from the open windows. Again, Farwil ached with desire and jealousy. It was the best place for the rich and famous to be in Cheydinhal, the most coveted venue in the whole of Cyrodiil...and, here he was, having to settle for the Newlands Lodge. Glancing at her, he subconsciously guessed that she would have the same feelings as well, _Doesn't everyone?_

He was shocked, therefore, when he saw the tips of her mouth droop downwards in unmistakable dislike, "What's wrong?"

Her voice was even lower now, as though doubly afraid of people watching, "This place is best known for hosting the most famous and well-known people in Cheydinhal. Anyone who is anyone will be seen there. However, there are treacherous secrets contained in that place known only to the keen-eyed and nimble-fingered."

If Farwil had thought she could not surprise him again, he was sadly mistaken. This comment was the most enigmatic and confounding thing he had heard that night. Surely, the reputable Riverview was not as bad a pool of corruption as the Skooma Den in Bravil. She looked rather amused in her detached sort of way and he realised his mouth was hanging open,

"You should not be so surprised to hear this. Corruption breeds best where reputation is high."

"What...do you mean?"

"Perhaps we should move our ground." She turned towards the island park, "It does not do to talk about people when they are likely to hear us." She led the mystified Farwil to the shadowed island. She almost disappeared again until she came into the lamplight. Farwil began to almost fear falling in by accident since the water sounded dangerously close.

When they were standing in a pool of lamplight, she held something out to him that she seemingly had produced from nowhere, "Do you recognise this?" Farwil took it, cautiously, realising it was a tiny bottle, too small to be a potions vial, half-full of a white liquid too thick to be milk. A sniff confirmed it,

"This is Skooma!" He gasped,

"Yes. The owner of the establishment receives an crate full of it every fortnight. A local Orc Skooma gang who deals it owes him a favour and passes on his fair share. Which is why they always get free access to the building. Here," She presented him with a half-unfurled scroll, "further proof of it. A note from one of the dealers. Read it at your leisure."

"But-but, my father goes there!" Farwil spluttered, "How can they get away with that?"

She was silent. Farwil was left to baffle out the puzzle before him. They could hide the stuff, of course, and, unless they gave his father an opportunity to lauch a search, then it would never be found. He felt like he was under her stare again and his clothes became more and more uncomfortable by the minute,

"In addition," He realised where she was producing these things from now; a large black satchel slung across her body, blending in almost perfectly with her robes, "the maids have these in their possession." She handed him a strange, blood-red robe he had never seen before. It looked like a similar make to her black ones and had a small symbol of a rising sun cut in ruby upon the neck clasp, "You do not recognise it? I am not surprised." Her voice was now smooth, almost curt, as though she was trying her best not to show emotion,

"What is it?" Farwil asked, glancing at the symbol and back at her. Now that she was in the light and he was close enough, he could see that her neck clasp bore the symbol of a handprint cut in some deep black stone. Completely unfamiliar, of course. He made a mental note to look it up, "Is it bad?"

"Tell me, Sir Knight," He was beginning to get the feeling that this would soon become his nickname, "what are your views on daedra worship?"

"I..." He didn't quite know how to answer. He was not well-read on daedra (his father had made a point of excluding it from his education) and he had never bothered to find out much about it, "...I don't really know much about it..."

"You must be the only Dunmer in this place who doesn't." Again, the lightly-playful tone, "Anyway, you are better off. For that robe is the paraphernalia of the most secretive and most terrible of daedric cults, the Mythic Dawn."

"Who are they?" Now the subject was present, he suddenly found himself very interested. Her tone was still level, with that hint of forced calm,

"They worship Mehrunes Dagon. All the stereotypes of blood-drinking, human-sacrificing worshippers are prevelent in the followers. They kidnap stray travellers on the road, drug them with a potent anaesthitic and sacrifice them upon the alter while they lie helpless. A prospetitive follower must perform a sacrifice to be initiated. They once had a shrine north of this city, in Lake Arrius Caverns, but that was wiped out about eighteen years ago."

"How?" Farwil knew she didn't like this subject but pressed on, amazed that any cult like that could exist. She turned her gaze upon him, piercing right through him again. He now wished he had not sounded so eager to know,

"Let me tell you a little story." She turned her head up to the sky, her shadowed eyes gazing up at the stars, "There was a girl, distraught and confused, not sure whether she had done the right thing. She fled Bravil with her mind frenzied with grief and ran into the wrong cave to try and compose herself. She ran straight into the Mythic Dawn's hands. She was drugged, bound and brought to the caverns.

"While there, she was used as a pleasure slave by the male members. She was in such a heavy trance that she only realised afterwards. A week after her capture was her date to be sacrificed. However, she escaped. Some say she developed an intolerance to the drug, others think a member took pity on her and deserted with her. Either way, she escaped without a fight.

"It turned out this girl was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. A very high-ranking member too. So, when the Brotherhood found out what had happened, they went to Lake Arrius Caverns and killed the whole lot of them. Except the leader, Mankar Camoron, and his children, Raven and Ruma. They escaped before the wrath of the Brotherhood came upon them. It is said that the Dark Brotherhood would kill anyone in possession of any paraphernalia of the Mythic Dawn and anyone who is found trying to reform it."

Farwil blinked, astonished. Not only were the maid of Riverview members of a dangerous cult but they were in danger from assassins as well! "So," He said, slowly, trying to piece it all together, "they're part of a reformation?"

"Perhaps." She gave the briefest of nods, "Or they are sleeper agents that escaped the slaughter. There may well be more agents scattered around Cyrodiil. Anyway," She turned to him, her voice losing its forced quality, "I have talked far too much tonight. I am a better listener than a speaker. You talk for a bit."

"Uh..." Again, the spotlight shifted onto him, "...what about...?"

"Anything." She shrugged, "And everything."

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A/N: I hope this was okay. I'm not used to doing Farwil.


	9. Chapter 8: Corruption and Conscience

A/N: More Farwil stuff now. I'm going to be doing a few more chapters on him in the future before going back to Martin.

**Sarge117X: **Thanks!

**Miss Lieress: **I didn't like Farwil at first either but he's grown on me.

**maskedpainter: **Thanks for liking this! More Farwil to come!

**BurningSilence: **Oh, thanks for thinking that. That's what I was most worried about, the characterisations. I was worrying that I was taking them too far from the canon.

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 8: Corruption and Conscience**

His father took a seat in front of the window in the new lodge that had been erected last month. Farwil was absolutely delighted when the Count that accepted his proposal for the Knights of the Thorn to have an official lodge. He had accepted it on one condition: that everything the Knights did was first cleared with him first. Farwil did not much like this condition since it involved paperwork and he _hated_ paperwork but he said yes, nonetheless,

"Well, Farwil, training hard?"

"Yes, of course, Father! A Knight of the Thorn is always honing his skills ready for battle. Huzzah!" Farwil flashed a grin. He had done hours training that week and was getting better at his swordwork. He had perhaps a little trouble keeping to a strict regime but that was just teething problems. He would adjust soon enough and, when he did, the Knights would be heralded in more glory than the Fighter's Guild,

"Good, good." The Count nodded, with a small chuckle, "Just remember, these things don't happen overnight. Don't overdo it."

"I won't."

He turned back to his swordwork. Because his father was watching, he put a bit more effort into the swings. He wanted to impress him after all and convince him once and for all that he was worthy of being a knight, _WOOSH! WOOSH!_ The sword flew through the air, succeeding in the moves Farwil desired. Left, right, front, behind-

_CLANG!_

His sword stopped and would not move. It took him a few seconds to take in a figure just half a foot from him. A dark-robed, hooded and very familiar figure, who was holding a long elven sword and blocking his sword. Then, something happened. He never knew quite what; it was so fast but the elven sword became a blur and his sword just vanished from his hands. A scream from the side and the tinkling of glass made him jump.

Looking round, his heart missed a beat to see his father bent forward with his hands over his head and his sword sticking out of the now-broken window. Just where his father's head had once been. The whole place had gone silent. Some of the knights were leaning over the railings to find out what the noise was and stared at the stranger, who sheathed her sword, turned her head to the side and realised what damage had been done,

"Oops." She said, softly. Moving so silently that she might have been gliding over the normally creaky wood, she crossed the room and retrieved the sword, "My apologies. That was not intentional. I do hope you are uninjured."

His father nodded, now more gracious in the face of her repentance, "No, no, I'm quite alright. It was a very close call though. Now, who might you be?"

"An acquintance of Farwil's and, if my intuition is correct, you are Count Andel Indarys, his father."

"Yes, that's right." Now it was clear she was no threat, he became instantly friendly, "And you must be the mysterious woman from the Newlands Lodge Farwil told me so much about." Farwil felt himself flushing. He made it sound like Farwil had talked of little else.

However, she just nodded and said nothing more on the matter. It was only then that Farwil noticed what her sword was. A long elven claymore that she kept on her back and it was not the only one. Another, ebony claymore was there as well, combining with the elven one to make a cross on her back. He wondered why on earth she would want to carry two around with her. One was enough. And there was another thing. He could have sworn he had seen her wield the elven sword with one hand. But that was impossible. Even Nords and Orcs could not achieve that,

"It is fortunate that I have found you both here." Her voice was her usual low murmer, though the words were clear, "I have encountered something of interest that needs your attention regarding the captain of your guard."

"You mean Ulrich Leland?" The Count asked, standing, "What's wrong with him?"

"If it would please you come with me," She began to turn, "I shall show you. If we are not too late." Both clearly as bewildered as the other, Farwil and his father followed. Farwil was still amazed at her presence. It had been only two months since the night she was said to appear and to see her appear out of nowhere in the Knights of the Thorn Lodge was astonishing. It was the middle of the day, there had been half a dozen of them there and the lodge was not that dark so how did she manage to get in without being noticed?

She led them silently into Cheydinhal and past the Fighter's Guild towards the chapel. As they passed Riverview (Farwil never looked at the place the same way again after that night), she stopped. A little way off was the familiar figure of Ulrich Leland, axe raised and murder in his aspect. Before him was an injured Dunmer with a limp arm and a snapped dagger,

"Please, wait here and remain hidden." It was not an order but a request. She advanced towards them while the Count pulled Farwil behind a clump of bushes. The injured Dunmer was obviously too injured to fight and did not look in the least bit experienced. The fight was unfair, that was plain enough, and yet Leland was advancing on him, looking murderous. The axe came down...and was easily blocked by her claymore.

This time, it was obvious. She was holding it up perfectly well with one hand and even kept back Leland's weapon. A slight flick of the wrist from her and the axe was sent back again. The Dunmer stared at her wide-eyed and Leland did too, until his face darkened into the familiar scowl, "Eh? What's this? Who do you think you are to challenge me?"

"What was this man's crime?" A strange, sinister sweetness had appeared in her voice which sent a chill up Farwil's spine,

"Being drunk and disorderly for the third time this week!" snapped Leland, "He's a disgrace to this city, a blemise to be wiped off, and he will not even pay the fine for it. That's all you need to know so be off with yer or I'll clap you in irons!" She acted as though she had not heard him for she made no move. An audience was beginning to gather as she continued to stay where she was. Leland was becoming more and more uneasy at the amount of people accumulating. All the while, the injured Dunmer was getting shakily to his feet and raising his dagger again.

Leland tried to attack him again but was thwarted by her claymore. The daring woman turned to the befuddled Dunmer and jerked her head once, indicating that he had to leave. He took the hint, even in his state, and disappeared into the crowd. Farwil and his father crept from their hiding place and the Count beckoned the Dunmer over to question him. While he slurred the story out, Farwil climbed up a few steps of Riverview to gain a good viewing place.

Leland had called for back-up and guards were appearing from all angles, surrounding her. Even with her strength, there was no way she could survive against the whole force of the city guard. Leland obviously thought so as well; he let out a nasty laugh and sneered,

"You can't get out of this one, missy. Pay the fine or we'll haul you kicking and screaming into the dungeons. What will it be?"

Another silence, where everyone held their breath. Then, a humourless chuckle broke the spell. Her lips were twitched up into her soulless smile and she had not moved an inch, "Sorry, but I will have to decline. I do not pay for corruption." Then, the sword in her hands smoothly turned and she struck into the ground, cracking one of the cobblestones in half so it sunk far enough to stand upon its own, "I will not raise my weapon against anyone but you."

Leland gave out a derisive laughter that made Farwil's insides burn with hatred, "Are you suicidal or something? Or just insane? Men, seize her!" Farwil's insides seemed to flood with icy cold water as they made for her. He cried out and began to push through the throng with feverish strength to get to the fight. He had never thought this possible of Leland: that he was command his guards to attack an unarmed, unviolent woman for an offence that didn't even seem worthy of a fine. He pushed aside two orcs and reached for his sword. What he saw was enough to astonish him into motionlessness.

One, two, three, four, five guards lay unconscious and another one joined them on the ground just as he made it to the front. The claymore remained stuck in the ground and her gloved fists shot with lightning speed into the guards. None of the weapons seemed to hit her, only slashing air and clattering to the ground when their owners were knocked out cold,

"Amazing!" gasped Tertia, the local weapons dealer, who was standing beside him, her eyes wide with shock. Leland's eyes were wide too but with anger as his men dropped like flies one by one,

"_Garrus, get her_!" He screamed down his second-in-command's ear. Flinching at the noise, the Imperial drew his sword and swung it as hard as he could at her. It looked like certain death as it descended towards her shoulder but then, the blade just stopped. A black-gloved finger and thumb held the tip of the blade and drops of blood swelled, running over the blade. It was all silent, everyone barely believing what they were seeing. When she next spoke, it was soft and very audible in the silence,

"I'm sorry." And she sounded as though she meant it. Then, in a black blur, her fist had slammed into his ribs. Garrus Darelliun, the best swordsman Farwil had ever known, gave a cut-off groan of pain and surprise then collapsed as limp as a caught fish. Farwil's mouth fell open in amazement and he spotted his father on the other side of the circle created by the swelling crowd, his face blank with shock. She stood tall, a dark shadow in the bright sunlight surrounded by the unconscious guards, shouldering Garrus like he was a sack of wheat.

There was a moment where she was motionless, gazing steadily at a horrified Leland. Then, she pulled free her claymore and held it up, ready for the fight. Leland's reddening face contorted with rage, his words barely coherant in his wrath, "You...you witch...who do you think...think you are to challenge _me_? I'll _kill you!_" He screamed out the last part, reaching for his axe in a fit and charging like a wounded boar,

"Enough!" The Count stepped from the crowd, making Leland freeze in his tracks, "Captain Leland, stand down!" Even in his battle-crazed state, Leland would never defy Farwil's father. Instead, he lowered his axe and adopted the oily voice that made Farwil's blood boil,

"Oh, Count Indarys! What is your pleasure this fine day?"

"What's going on?" He demanded, his creased face becoming more severe in a way Farwil rarely saw, "What is the meaning of this scene?"

"Merely dealing with an uncooperative criminal, milord." He gestured at her, who held her claymore at the ready but made no offensive move. Imitating his father, Farwil stepped into the scene, trying not to step on the guards,

"Is there a problem with my friend?" He scowled at the stammering Breton, moving to stand defensively by her side. Leland blinked with surprise,

"Your...friend, Lord Farwil?" He glanced at the hooded woman and Farwil felt her eyes upon him,

"Ulrich Leland." His father's tone was formal, curt and sharp, one Farwil was not accustomed to and made him freeze to hear it. Leland actually winced under the Count's glare. It held none of the piercing power of the cloaked woman's eyes but could still hold a person, "Based upon the evidence I have compiled from Aldos Othren and from what I have seen today, I have reason to believe that you have corrupted the legal system of this town."

"I...I have no idea..." Leland's words were cut off by the point of her claymore being placed at the base of his neck,

"I suggest that we take him to the castle for a formal hearing." She had a way with her voice that left no room for contradiction, "I will bring the second-in-command with us. We need someone who will witness this and pass the word onto the other men. There is no need to revive them." She added, as Farwil took a step towards the unconscious men, "I will ensure Leland's cooperation." The claymore pressed a little harder on the Breton's neck, "Move." So, the Count led the way, with Leland and the stranger following behind. Farwil and a healed but shaken Othren brought up the rear.

As they passed the crowd, Farwil noticed the shock turning into relief. Even delight at Leland's plight. Farwil had to wonder how long this corruption his father had spoke of had been going on right under his father's nose and how many people had suffered. He felt a small twinge of guilt as he did so. Here he was, an official Knight of the Thorn, always ready for battle and yet he could not recognise when his own city was in need of aid, _I'll keep a closer watch in the future._ He promised himself, _I won't let this get out of hand again._

It was only when they went up the road to the castle did Garrus begin to regain consciousness. As his father sat down at the head of the hall, he groaned. She set him upon his feet, where he staggered and clutched the place where he'd been struck, "Wha...what's going on?" He took in the scene of the Count baring over Leland, Othren leaning against the wall to steady himself and her, who had finally sheathed her sword,

"Ulrich Leland, you are accused of perverting the course of justice." The Count's voice echoed around the hall, "by means of abusing your power and corruption of the city guard. The evidence to this charge is as follows: I and many others have just witnessed an example of excessive violence in the face of an unaggressive combatant. Secondly, Aldos Othren has testified that you have been charging overly high fines for the smallest of offences."

"And I present this letter found in his quarters as further evidence." She came forward, producing this from her robe and handed it to Farwil's father. Leland began to sweat as the Count's eyes flicked back and forth across the page. When the letter was read, his voice became more severe and his eyes harder,

"This letter states that you have been extorting my town right under my nose for your own person reasons for a long time." Farwil scowled; so he had been deceiving them! Leland's shocked face was as good as a confession; he looked terrified at the prospect of being exposed. His shock quickly turned to anger. He drew his weapon and rounded on the motionless woman,

"You...what right have you to invade my quarters? What right have you to meddle in affairs that are not your own? What makes you think you can order people around like you own the place?" She said nothing, betraying no emotion in her concealed face or her invisible eyes. She did not even reach for her sword, which inflamed his wrath further. With a bloodthirsty snarl like a starving wolf, he lunged at her. Farwil leapt forward, sure that a heavy axe like that would break her to pieces. He was not needed again, however. He did not see her dodge as it was too fast. Nor did he see her draw her sword but, there it was, in her hand once more. Leland lost his balance, not expecting the dodge. His axe sank into the wooden door behind her and shattered it to pieces.

Roaring in frustration, he turned and made another attack. Again, she dodged as though she had seen it all before and had memorised his moves. Her elven sword appeared in her hand again and, yes, she was holding it with one hand again. She blocked the axe with almost lazy ease, the sword always moving where the axe descended. Her swordwork was amazing, Farwil could admit that. Leland was no amateur yet, compared to her, he was.

There was a tinkling of glass as the now very clumsy-looking axe embedded itself in the window and would not move. She was behind Leland in a trice.

It happened too quickly to prevent. The pale elven blade sank beneath his right arm and soared upwards with a smooth _swish_. Leland screamed in agony as the useless arm fell to the floor with a limp _thud_ in an increasing pool of blood. He collapsed on his side, clutching the clean sever where his arm had once been. Naspia, who had come over to see what was going on, fainted and had to be caught and carried out by Ulene. Othren looked like he was about to be sick and Garrus clasped a hand over his mouth. Indeed, Farwil felt the bile rise in his throat and tried to keep his eyes off the whimpering Leland.

Among all this, the woman stood unaffected and more terrifying than before. She towered over him, the bloody blade at his throat,

"I have been watching you for quite some time and observing your selfish deeds. Not just I. The shadows have eyes everywhere. I am not one to let such things pass me by. My disgust with you gave me the right to invade your quarters, my sense of justice gave me the right to meddle in affairs that are not my own and it is my disgust and sense of justice that shall give me the right to kill you if you do not atone for your crimes."

Leland, suddenly losing all courage and anger, let out a defeated cry of fright and tried to drag himself away from her with one arm. He was no longer the brusque captain Farwil knew but a helpless, terrified Breton cowering before the merciless Dunmer, "Alright! Alright, it's all true! I did fleece the town and send it all to my family! Throw me in a dungeon! Take everything I took from this town! But, for the love of Arkay, _please_ spare my life! Have mercy on me!"

Her humourless chuckle sent shivers up Farwil's spine and her voice was intolerably sweet again, "The last Breton who said that to me was decapitated five seconds later. Now, get out of my sight, lest you follow him." Her voice was now doubly eerie when accompanied by those actions. Leland practically ran into the dungeons, clutching his bleeding shoulder, with Garrus hurrying after him. The door snapped shut and a silence fell, in which all attention was drawn to the woman.

She let out a little sigh, threw her sword to the side so the blood flew off onto the wall and sheathed it again. She turned to Farwil, her face emotionless again, "Sorry about the mess. I knew he would not stop attacking unless I gave him a lasting injury that would impair him for life. He is one of those who will not see the truth until it crashes down upon his head." She bent down and picked up Leland's bloody arm, "Does anyone object to me taking this? I have use for it." Her glare was upon them again and no one's voice seemed to be working.

After a small pause, she drew out a small bag of what sounded like a great deal of money and placed it upon a table, "That should be enough to pay for the damages. If you are thinking of rewarding me, please do not trouble yourself. I have too many riches and no use for them. What I have given you should enough to pay for the floor, the door, the two windows and anything left can be given to victims of the corruption like Othren as compensation."

She began to stride towards the door without a word. It was a moment before the Count stood up and another moment before he could get his voice to work, "Uh...miss...?"

She stopped in the first doorway before the entrance hall and turned her head back. Her hood concealed her eyes again but her humourless smile was there, "Yes, Count Indarys?"

Farwil and his father were similiar in many respects. One of those respects was that they were no good at hiding their nerves. Farwil could see his father growing extremely uneasy as he fell under her stare, fidgeting and not meeting her invisible eyes, "Ah...I insist that I repay you for aiding my citizens at risk to yourself in some way. Is there anything we can do for you?"

Her head flicked around to Farwil and he felt her eyes searching him once more, "Well, if you were to agree, I would like to take charge of teaching Farwil swordsmanship. From what I have seen, he shows promise but needs guidance to go beyond the basics."

"Well," The Count visibly relaxed, "I think that's reasonable. When can you visit?"

"Oh, I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon and see if we can arrange a regular schedule then. Now then," She turned and began walking again, "I think I have put my sister through enough stress. She will have probably sent out a search party by now."

Farwil didn't know how to feel. She was clearly a master of blade but did he really need a tutor? Was it really worth it? Couldn't he just learn it all on his own like he'd been doing before? He wanted to say something but his voice failed him as she began to walk away. It came back to him again but, now, he wanted to ask something else,

"Uh, hey!" She stopped and turned again, now in the doorway leading outside, "What's your name?"

Her penetrating gaze was upon him again and he felt himself flushing yet again. He tried to stare at the severed arm she had rested on her shoulder but that didn't work either. It was worth having her as a tutor just to see if he could get over it, he decided. After a long pause, she spoke,

"Lenore. Call me Lenore."

_Click._ The doors to the castle closed between them.

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A/N: Three guesses of what she is going to do with that arm!


	10. Chapter 9: Lenore and Farwil

A/N: More delays to come since my exams are just around the corner! Also, I cannot think of good chapter names now. It's a real problem now, as you can see. That said, a nice lot of reviews this time around. Thanks a lot and please, keep it up!

**BloodAndDiamonds:** Aw, thanks very much! I'm glad that I've achieved focusing on the characters without making it boring because I was worrying about that.

**maskedpainter: **That's a good idea but not quite!

**Sarge117X: **Martin will be a back in a few more chapters when I'm finished with Farwil.

**Winged Ferret: **Brother Lucien will be back, I promise! It is pronouced Lenore, like in The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. It's where I got the name from.

**Lily Ariel Black: **Oh, wow, really? You think it's the best you've ever read? I'm honoured!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 9: Lenore and Farwil**

_Bremman_

_CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!_

Again and again, Farwil's sword collided with hers. It was clear that he was going at her with his full force with his real blade. A risky way of training in any other situation. Yet, the gap in their expertise was obvious. Every attack Farwil made was easily intercepted by her claymore. Sweat glistened on his forehead while she was as impassive as usual.

Bremman knew that the woman whom Farwil called Lenore was the Lonely Shadow, who had come out of the blue to be Farwil's personal trainer after the Leland incident, whom she had played the central part in. She was strong, that was obvious, and clearly had a good head on her shoulders to know exactly how to render the once Captain of the Guard helpless. He had also learned from Ulene, the castle healer, that she was cold and ruthless who had dismembered Leland and threatened to kill him without pity or remorse.

For this reason, Bremman forsoke his usual training routine to watch them. It was their first training session together. She had always insisted that they train outside to 'prevent any more accidents' and that they did not use any safe training apparatus. She had launched straight into the real blades in real combat outside. She seemed to disdain ordinary training models and safe environments.

It was a dangerous way to train and could result in injuries. Not even the Fighter's Guild did this to new members. He suspected to the woman, too. Her motives for training Farwil were suspicious. They had only met three times before the training, including the Leland incident and had acted very aloof to him before. And she must know how dangerous that training method was. Ideas about assassins floated in his head. What if she wanted to train him just to get close to him? To befriend him and then stab him in the back?

He knew he was being paranoid but he could not help it. He and Farwil had been childhood playmates. When he had joined the Fighter's Guild, he had tried to get Farwil to join but he had refused, saying that he hated the Fighter's Guild. He never quite knew how the argument started but it ended with Farwil breaking all ties with him. After a good few years, he had joined Farwil's band of knights in an attempt to reconcile with him but, so far, no luck. Farwil was hotheaded and not quick to forgive. So far, he had just ignored Bremman, calling him only by his surname. Still, he felt protective over Farwil; he was young (by Dunmer standards) and leapt before he looked. He could get into trouble if he wasn't careful.

That woman...Farwil listened to her, really took in what she was saying. A real feat for Farwil. Yet, she had only just come into his life seemingly out of thin air. She was an intruder, an outsider, dark-robed and soft-spoken. She always wore that black robe, always hooded. Her face was always in shadow, like she didn't want to be recognised.

Perhaps that was what Bremman disliked about her. He did not like people who hid themselves away in shadow. He liked to be able to see people's faces because, if he could see their faces, he could recognise them and learn about them. She, however, was just a shadow. A half-formed figure with only a name that might have been a person but too shrouded by cloaks and riddles that he could not recognise her. He could not unravel her riddles and learn about her.

Why did she keep herself hooded, that was what he wanted to know. It was a bright summer's day and even he had foresaken his armour due to the heat. Black was the worst colour to wear on a hot day, as was wearing such covering clothes. He would have thought she'd have taken off her hood at least. That black robe...he had got from Farwil that an unfamiliar crest was on the hood. One of a black handprint, one that he had tried and failed to research. The robe itself swamped her, obscuring her to give him no clue of her origin. He thought that perhaps she was part Nord due to the fact that she could wield a claymore with one hand-

The woman then made Bremman jump by striking her claymore into the ground, signalling a break. Farwil flopped down on the nearest bench, bright magenta with exertion, panting and looking totally exhausted. Even by opening the window a little, he could still not hear her quiet voice. He had to creep out of the door and hide behind the corner to catch the words,

"...being too obvious with your moves. It would help if you endevoured to stay silent during your fighting and, for heaven's sake, there is no need to cry 'huzzah' every time you land a blow."

Her tone was emotionless and hard, like the stereotypical voice of a trainer. Farwil's cry of 'huzzah' was trademark and it would take a long time for him to stop, Bremman knew that. She went on,

"Your attacks are becoming stronger but they take too long to prepare. Aim to increase the speed of your attacks and not just your strength. For speed can add extra power and make up for a lack of strength in many ways."

"How...long..." Farwil managed to gasp out. It was remarkable that he could even muster the energy to speak after all that work. The Dunmer had never done so much work in a day as he had done in those two hours he had spent with Lenore, "...will...take..."

"These things do not come to you overnight." She said, simply. The Count's words sounded more authoritative and more powerful in her voice than in his, "Look behind you, to the the castle where you grew up. This was not built in one day. It took time, careful planning, good resources and, most of all, diligent workers to solidly construct it. Foundations matter very little. The largest castle built out of the heaviest stone may be built on top of a deep marsh and still stand. Forts have fallen before but lessons are learnt from the destruction. Skills are built in the same way: through trial, exertion and failure."

"Failure...?" Farwil panted, sounding confused through the exhaustion,

"Yes. People learn best through failure, not success. Now, you have learned the limits of your energy. You cannot keep up hard swordwork for more than two hours and would not last in a long battle. You need to push your boundaries. Walls can be broken with multiple assaults so keep exerting yourself to your maximum." She then sheathed her sword and pulled him to his feet, "Come. You need to get rid of all that sweat."  
"But...we've got...a bath..." Farwil was now regaining enough strength to piece together two words at a time,

"You cannot rely on luxuries if you wish to be a knight. Not only because you may be travelling around the province during a war." She said, shortly, setting him on his feet and glaring directly into his face, "Fighting is an elemental thing. Even if you are learning how to use a sword now, no one taught you how to use your fists and your body to fight. That knowledge is inate; you were born with it. The Ayleids knew how to do it and that knowledge is inherited by the civilised multitude today. Battles is a return to nature, to savagery. Aimless killing of the other tribe to defend your territory. You must come to embrace that and use nature as much as you can. There is a lake to the north of here that will serve our purpose. Follow me."

Farwil, still looking as though he could not move a foot, wearily ambled after her. Bremman did not want to resort to following them but he did not like the idea of Farwil being alone with her. His suspicions were aroused anew by her words but he tried to come up with more innocent suggestions. She had referred to fighting as a return to nature. Had she been in wars? Did she wear her robe to hide some dreadful battle-scar? Was she perhaps a wandering mercenary? Or a retired soldier?

An hour passed, noon came and went, and Bremman had just opened the door to look for them when they were seen striding down the hill again. She looked no different but Farwil...he looked nervous again. She drew the claymore again and the hard training went on. Bremman slipped back inside to try and concentrate on his own training but he could not block out the incessant clashing of swords outside.

When night finally descended, she called an end to the day and promised to meet him again at a later date. Once she had left, Farwil trapsed up the stairs and collapsed on his bed. He was covered in sweat again and the only movement he had the strength to make was the loud gasps of breath that wrenched from his chest. Bremman left him alone to get some rest until it was the time when the knights normally frequented the Newlands Lodge.

He slipped into Farwil's quarters, finding the Dunmer still sprawled across the bed. Hearing Bremman come in, he hauled himself up into a sitting position, "I swear..." He panted, running a hand through his damp hair, "...I have never...done so much...in one day...in my life..." He gave up and flopped back down, this time on his back, staring at the ceiling,

"What did she do?" He asked, then changed tack and asked, "When you went up the mountain?"

It took Farwil about ten seconds to get enough breath to answer, "She...she took me to this...campsite...and caught a lion...When I'd finished, she'd cooked it...it was practically raw, Bremman!" The mention of his first name startled him, "I could barely...barely eat it! She wouldn't listen...said that Imperials overcook their food...She just ate it..."

While he was half carrying Farwil back to the castle, Bremman thought some more about the woman. The possibility of her being a wandering mercenary was increasing. As was the possibility that she was born in Morrowind because Dunmer traditionally liked their meat rare whereas Imperials liked theirs well done. If she had a liking for mountain lion, it meant she had some experience of living in the wilderness. She knew how to catch them and how to prepare them for a meal.

Count Indarys was shocked with the story. He had taken on the Imperial way of eating meat and had passed it to his son. However, Farwil would not allow her to be prevented from visiting again. He wanted her to come back. Even though he was absolutely drained, he had enjoyed their training together. He was vehement, fierce almost, that she should be allowed to come and teach him as she pleased. He would suffer the bad cooking just to be trained by her,

"She's a good teacher!" He insisted to his father, "I know she is. I know I'll get better with her. It's just the food I don't like."

He was deaf to all pleading to see reason as always and, thus, she came as she pleased over and over again. Bremman still kept his habit of watching them. Farwil was improving markedly, it had to be said. The change was not complete (he still had relapses where he spent lazy days) but it had begun. Jhared and the others could barely believe it. How he had changed so much just for one woman.

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_Arquen_

It was baffling. Totally and utterly confusing. The Listener, who never usually went out except in emergencies, had been going in and out of the Sanctuary on a regular basis. About once a week, if not on the same day. In broad daylight, too! This had gone on for months and not a straight explanation from her. Not even an explanation as she never even answered when Arquen asked.

All she had to go was a report from Sylvia when she followed the Listener one day en route to a contract, which she had in her hand. It had been a rolled scroll when she first received it but she had read it over so many times that it had become perfectly flat:

_Speaker,_

_I have followed the Listener today out of curiousity and your desire to know of her frequent disappearances. I saw her go into the new Knights of the Thorn Lodge. It houses a band of amateur soldiers under the command of the Count's son. Though I have not seen what they get up to, I have seen the Listener in the company of said son. I am afraid that I was caught before I could gain any more information. If you desire it, I will make another attempt._

Arquen found this very confusing. She knew about the Count's son...whose name escaped her now. He was a pretentious, loud-mouthed ass who talked bigger than he actually was. The exact opposite of the Listener. The most contrasting and unlikely pair of friends one would never find anywhere else. If they were friends at all, that is. Arquen seriously doubted that they could ever get along, let alone form a friendship. The Listener would dislike his pretentiousness and he would be put off by her cold attitude.

Still...why else would she willingly go out to see him? She tried to think of an alternative explanation but none came to her. No good ones anyway. She had long since put them to the back of her mind when new mysteries appeared. One: she had been calling Haecuba into her quarters for extended periods of time. Two: she was sending her to do very odd tasks like fetching great quanitities of material and dress-making tools.

If anyone was trusted by the Listener in the Sanctuary, it was Haecuba. Ever since the chaos surrounding the first Month of Grief when Haecuba had first met her. They somehow reached an understanding with each other and, since then, Haecuba became her unofficial personal assistant. She would tell Arquen nothing, having been probably sworn to secrecy. It was utterly maddening to have a possible informant so close to the Listener and not being able to get a word from her.

Giving up her fruitless ponderings, she stood up and marched down to the Listener's quarters. She could faintly hear Haecuba's voice through the door but could not hear the words. Like the Listener, she was softly spoken. It was useless to try and listen in so she knocked twice, "Listener, Haecuba, what are you doing?"

Silence. After a while, Arquen lost what was left of her patience. She opened the door to find the most astonishing sight yet. The Listener (she could only recognise her by the skin colour) was standing on a stool wearing a dress she had never seen before. Haecuba was holding a pincushion in one hand and a needle in the other.

Haecuba was an Altmer, like Arquen, but unlike Arquen in every other way. She had been in the Brotherhood thirty years and had never been promoted past Slayer. After Bellamont had been eliminated, she had been transferred to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary from the Chorrol one. Arquen had the feeling that Belisarius had given her up just to be rid of her. She was a burden on the Brotherhood: she failed most contracts, never achieved the bonuses and often had to rely on more experienced members to complete them for her. Hardly worthy of being an assassin.

But, the Listener took a liking to her for some reason and prevented her from being shunted to another Sanctuary to be a burden on someone else. She trusted Haecuba right from the start when no one else would. And no one knew why. Why the highest member of the Dark Brotherhood would have any interest in who was no doubt the lowest member.

Haecuba herself was plain by Altmer standards, with sallow skin and thick eyebrows. Her dark hair was done up, as always, in that high ponytail with a braid on either side of her face. She had taken to wearing that hairstyle just a few months after coming to the Cheydinahal Sanctuary. When she was not wearing her hood, that is. Unlike the others, she wore an ordinary mage's robe. Most thought it was because she got so few contracts that she didn't need her shrouded armour.

When she saw Arquen enter, Haecuba froze, needle poised. The Listener too looked around, in the middle of adjusting a black horse-hair wig. Arquen's mouth fell open. The half-done dress she was wearing was made of two layers: the outer of fine black velvet, sleeveless and adorned with dark blue trimming, and the inner of white silk. The black velvet was decorated with silvery embroidered spider-webs and butterflies, a motif that contined to the waist and hem. The billowing robe-like sleeves were overlong, covering her hands and arms, like the portraits of Akaviri ladies she had seen in books. The whole effect reminded her of the witches she had seen in old-fashioned books that rode on broomsticks and had black cats,

"Uh..." She struggled for words at the sight. The Listener hardly ever wore anything but her Black Hand Robe, after all, and seeing her in this outfit fit for a masquerade ball left her standing agog. Haecuba ducked behind the Listener in fright at the sight of her Speaker. The girl was hopelessly shy to the point of timidness, _A timid Altmer; what next?_ She often thought,

"Yes, Arquen?" The Listener's voice made her jump and, as usual, she glanced around for a moment until she knew it was the Listener who spoke,

"Wha...what are you...?" On the table to the side was a glittering midnight-blue mask shaped like a butterfly and an unfurled scroll. The words caught her eye:

_Lenore_

_You are cordially invited as a guest of_

_Farwil Indarys_

_To attend the Midyear Masquerade Ball at Castle Cheydinhal on the evening of the 16th of Midyear_

Surprise after surprise seemed to present itself to her. This was nothing like she could have imagined. The Listener, invited to a ball at Castle Cheydinhal, by the Count's son? Moreover, it looked as though she had accepted the invitation and would go! "Listener..." She began, unsure of what to say and conscious of the red eyes staring, "...you're..."

The Listener was acting as though she was not there and was propping an overly large, wide-brimmed, witch's hat on her head. That too was made of dark velvet and lined with the same spiderwebs and butterflies. Haecuba, copying the Listener, pretened Arquen wasn't there and busied herself with the trimming, which she was sewing on. On the table were discarded bits of material and sketches of dress designs, _Did Haecuba do that all by herself?_ Arquen never knew that Haecuba had any talent in dress-making. Certainly, she could mend rips in shrouded armour well enough but not anything on this scale.

Haecuba, having finished the last bit of hemming, picked up the mask and helped to tie it to the Listener's face. A small smile graced the Dunmer's face, "You have excelled yourself, Haecuba. It is magnificent."

The timid Altmer went scarlet in the face. It had been the first time Arquen had ever heard someone compliment her in earnest and she seemed completely overwhelmed by it, "Th-thank you, Listener."

"Don't you think so, Arquen?" She hopped off the stool, turning to show her, "It's perfect."

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_Farwil_

He was awake. That's what he registered immediately. Why was he awake? He had no idea. It was the dead of night as far as he could see outside from his bed in the Knights of the Thorn Lodge. He had taken up residence there after much argument with his father about it. He did not care if the castle was safer or that he was closer to his father. He wanted to be there.

There it was again. A banging noise, like something striking glass. This time, he sat up, glancing all around the room. He lit a candle on his bedside table and shone its light about the place. Nothing out of place. No one hiding in the shadows. The window was all black and no trees were there to rattle against it. Farwil was just thinking about going back to bed when

_SMASH!_

The window shattered inwards, making him jump back, stubbing his toe painfully on the bedstead. Hopping about and swearing under his breath, Farwil noticed what had struck it. A stone that looked too small to do real damage unless it was thrown with a good deal of force behind it. Throwing the window open, he glared around. Beneath his window was a figure in glimmering armour with their head in shadow,

"What do you think you're playing at?" He snapped, anger flaring in him, "Get away or I'll have you thrown in a dungeon!"

All animosity towards the stranger vanished when the trademark humourless chuckle drifted up to the window and a whispered, "Do you talk to all your friends like this?"

"Lenore! Is that you?" He gasped, recognising her at once. The shadow was in fact a dark hood and, as a cloud drew away from Masser, he saw her two claymores on her back, "What are you doing here?"

"Come down here." Her voice was only just audible, a lower whisper than usual as though she was worried about someone hearing them, "I've something to tell you. Please, keep it quiet. I want no one to know of this meeting."

"Okay. Wait a minute." He added, dropping his voice to a whisper. Clearly, this was important. She never came at any other time than she specified, let alone at this time of night. Throwing on a robe, he hurried down the steps, trying to be as quiet as he could. He winced when his feet were louder than he wanted them to be on the wooden steps. He crept past the Knights' Quarters. None of them seemed to be awake which was amazing because he was sure the breaking window alone would be enough to rouse them.

Hurrying past the door, he came to the ground floor and through the door. There Lenore stood in exactly the same spot, obscured from the Cheydinhal gate's view by a clump of trees and rather more wary than usual. Farwil hurried to her, clutching his robe around him without really needing to. It was a very warm night. Once they were close, she drew him into the tree clump with a hand on his shoulder. She had her face very close to his. He could pick out the cracks on her chapped lips in the dim moonlight,

"Forgive the lateness of the hour but this cannot wait. I am afraid-" She halted her speech suddenly and ducked down, as though a searchlight was shining upon them. In the distance, Farwil could hear someone calling into the night,

"Are the guards chasing you?" Farwil wondered aloud. It was too far away to pick out a race or gender,

"Worse." A small grimace played on her mouth, "My sister. Please, keep your voice down. I have sent my horse on a loop to prevent her following me. I must not be followed by anyone."

"What's going on?" Farwil asked, desperately. When she shushed him, he dropped his voice again, "Lenore, are you in trouble? What's happened?"

"I trust you, Farwil." She held him with her gaze again and felt the familiar flush of heat, "I will tell you no lies and hide nothing from you now." The head turned from side to side, trying to pick out anyone that might hear. Then, she leaned in even closer so their noses were almost touching, "The Emperor is dead."

Farwil jerked away from her as though burned. This statement struck him like a warhammer. The Emperor dead? He had heard rumours of the heirs being killed but not the Emperor himself! "Who...wha...how...?" Farwil didn't know which question he should ask first. Lenore solved this problem by speaking in her calm, emotionless tone,

"He was murdered by the Mythic Dawn. You remember them, do you not? They are the ones behind the assassinations of him and his three sons. The Emperor died in an attempt to escape the Imperial City through secret escape routes. By chance, our paths crossed and I accompanied him in his final hour. Before he died, the Emperor entrusted me with the task of transporting the greatest treasure the Empire has to safety. One that must not fall into enemy hands."

She reached into her armour and drew out an enormous red jewel. It hung upon a string of gold and Farwil could have bet his sword on seeing it glow dimly in the twilight. The sky was lightening above them, the moons were fading. Dawn was breaking. Yet, he could not draw his eyes away from the thing in her hand. It was so beautiful and magnetic. The glittering of something within was almost hypnotic. The spell was broken by Lenore's voice,

"This is the Amulet of Kings. I must deliver this to the right people and never allow it to be taken by the Mythic Dawn." She put the jewel away again, sending a small pang of disappointment through Farwil. He wished he could have looked upon it longer, "The future is now uncertain. The Emperor told me of some threat from Oblivion, though I am not sure what. Attacks are likely. Invasion may be imminant. I know not whether I will be needed again by the Empire after I have completed this task nor do I know how long it will take."

Thunder rumbled in the distance. An extended sound, seeming to get closer. But there were no clouds in the sky. Lenore took a few steps back, "You may not see me again for quite some time. Keep practising in the meantime and, please, be careful. Do not let your hubris cloud your reason. If an invasion comes, do not put yourself in the line of fire. I will come to you when I can. Remember, you did not hear this from me."

Then, she was gone. She had reached back and grabbed a dark blur that dashed before them. Farwil stumbled and endevoured to follow. She was riding an impossibly fast black horse into the dawn. The sun rose behind him as he stared at the place she had vanished.

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A/N: If this was a real, original book, you lot would be writing Bremman/Farwil and Lenore/Haecuba fanfiction after reading this, wouldn't you?


	11. Chapter 10: Clearing the City

A/N: The exams are well underway! I can't be doing enough revision if I've enough free time to write this.

**BlackMarauderX: **Is it really? Wow!

**Zaleone: **Thanks for saying that. I really do worry if I'm capturing the emotion and then, I get paranoid that it's not natural because I'm trying too hard. But, I'm glad I pulled it off.

**Jenna H: **Thanks! Send me a link if you do, okay?

**maskedpainter: **Ah, I'd be spoiling it for you if I told you, wouldn't I? I really like your fanfiction, by the way. Very unique ideas.

**The Winged Ferret: **Ah, yes, I thought so.

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 10: Clearing the City**

_Baurus_

The door creaked open and Baurus twitched up an eye to see who it was. It was a dark-robed Dunmer with a long sword wrapped in sack-cloth on her back. Though she was hooded, he could see the familiar purplish hue to her skin and dark lips. Though his heart leapt to see her, he could not make a move. Not while the agent was watching. Lenore glanced around the place, taking in Baurus and the sleeper agent, with the distinct air of putting two and two together. She knew, of course. He could see it. He knew she would work it out quickly. She seemed to the sort to be a quick thinker.

In an instance, she had glided across the room, her shoes making no noise on the wood floor. Baurus surruptitously leaned a little to his left to catch was she was saying to the agent. Her voice was so low that he had to strain his ears but he still caught it, "Dawn is breaking."

"Greet the new day, Sister." The sleeper agent visably relaxed and Baurus understood in an instant what had just happened. It was a greeting among the Mythic Dawn and she was pretending to be another sleeper agent. A good tactic and a good way to get him alone, "Has the Master sent you?"

"Yes." Her tone was even, with no indication of a lie in her aspect. She had either been very good at lying to start with or had some training in the field, "The Master has heard that the Blades are mobilising against us and has decided to multiply the number of sleeper agents in the cities. Contact between agents will be severely limited too."

"So, that's why I didn't hear of you." It was clear that the lies she was spinning were working. He was accepting them completely and was now getting to his feet, "The Master is right to be on the lookout. You see that Redguard? He is a member of the Blades, there is no doubt. What say you, Sister? Shall we ambush him now when he is outnumbered?"

"Caution, Brother." She held up a purplish, ungloved finger, "The Imperial Legion know nothing of us so would it not be wise to keep it that way? I say we get him to a secluded place and then, dispatch him. Like our Brothers did with the Emperor." He knew she was acting but his blood chilled at the heartless cruelty in her voice,

"I want the body to be found quickly." The agent's voice dropped even more as Luther Broad leaned over to try and catch their conversation, "I want to use him as a warning to any other of those accursed Blades."

"Of course, Brother." The false words rolled off her tongue without a moment's pause, "I meant a place where he will be found but only long after we have left." She looked around to the door leading down to the cellar, "Will the cellar suffice?"

"Very well, Sister." The agent was satisfied, "How will we persuade him to come?"

"Leave that to me. Be prepared."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lenore turn and stride towards him. Silently, she sat down and leaned in close, her voice its quietest yet, "That man is a Mythic Dawn sleeper agent."

"I know." Baurus nodded, "Where do you want me to be?"

"Just stand up and go down into the cellar. He will follow you and I will follow him. When we are in the cellar, I shall kill him. Please, do not attack. I shall be swift. Alright, go now."

Suppressing the urge to lay a hand on his sword, he got up and strode purposefully around the bar and through the wood door. He was conscious all the time of the agent behind him, even more so in the dark room beyond. He knew Lenore was right behind him and would definitely kill him before he could make a move but his nerves still acted up. Years of training had given him those instincts to turn around and hack down that agent as soon as he was away from the steps.

He turned around in one swift motion, laying the hand on his sword. He had barely got the first inch of metal free, however, when he was dead. Lenore, who blended in perfectly with the shadows, appeared in the lamplight, dagger in hand. The knife sank into the agent's neck like it was hot butter and was out again in a trice. The only sound the agent gave was a strangled sort of gurgle before his limp body hit the floor with a soft _flump_.

The whole incident had taken less than a second and, in an even smaller amount of time, the knife had disappeared up the sleeve of her robe. Again, Baurus found himself fearing her deadliness just has he had in the escape route. She was now searching the agent's body, her fingers slipping into every pocket and hiding place. At last, she brought out a velvet-bound red book that he had never seen before from within his waistcoat,

"This is one of the books the Mythic Dawn prize." She said, holding out out for him to have a look, "It was written by Mankar Camoran, the Master of the Mythic Dawn himself. It is a series of four books, though volumes three and four are hardly ever found."

"Great. This might help us find their hideout. I am happy to see you, by the way, you just caught me at a bad time." He took the book from her and, in the process, revealed her palm. That too was purplish in colour, like her face, but that hand caught his eye for a different reason. A long, pale scar cut its way from the centre of her wrist, down her palm and ending a little way up her middle finger. Baurus' pause in opening the book was noticed and, looking down, she saw her bare hand.

Giving a small 'oh' of surprise, she delved into her pockets and hastened to pull a pair of velvet gloves over them, _So, she's keen to hide that as well, _thought Baurus. He had not given much thought to Lenore since he had spent most of his time looking for the Mythic Dawn. While he flicked through the pages, he remembered how she had endevoured to hide her hair and how keen she was to keep herself in shadow. The black robe she wore now was another testament to that, since it obscured her almost completely, leaving most of her face in shadow.

He closed the book, not remembering a word he read, and turned back to her, "Now no one's around to hear us, what's the news from your end? Is the Amulet safe? Have you found Uriel's heir?"

"I am afraid that the enemy has taken the Amulet."

A cold wave of dread akin to the one he had felt when the Emperor was murdered overcame him. Without the Amulet, a new Emperor could not be crowned, he knew that much. As if seeing the horror on his face, she quickly said,

"On a happier note, I have found Uriel's heir. His name is Martin Septim and he is safe at Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Thank Talos he lives!" Baurus almost laughed with relief, "Martin Septim, you say? We will restore him to the throne. It's the sworn duty of all Blades!"

"Good." She gave him a faint smile, as though amused by his reaction, "Now, what do you suggest we do next?"

After a moment's thought, he got an idea, "I think we should try and get all these books. If the Mythic Dawn have them, it must be for a reason. You might want to see Tar-Meena at the Arcane University. She's an expert in daedric cults. We might have a breakthrough on our hands here."

With a small nod, she departed up the stairs, leaving the silent decision that she should look for them by herself. As he went up after her, he went back to wondering about her. That scar did not look new. The light had not been the best in the cellar but it had been fading slightly. Dunmer scars were almost white when they were new and began to fade bit by bit over the centuries. It looked about twenty or thirty years old, if he were to guess.

She had wanted to keep it hidden at all times too. Another distinctive feature that would identify her, perhaps. That was likely but it wasn't exactly a unique wound. Or maybe the souvenier of some terrible incident that she did not like to remember. He thought of the Emperor saying how sorry he was for her misfortune and the tear on her face when he'd said it,

_How did it happen, though?_ He stared at the bottom of his tankard, thinking hard. Picturing the scar, he tried to pick out little details from his memory before they could escape. It had been very straight, a single swipe from wrist to finger. A bit too straight to be anything truly accidental. In fact, it looked very deliberate. Like someone had specifically dragged a dagger across it.

It had been vertical too, which was odd. If she had caught a dagger, it would be horizontal. As would if she had exposed it in a fight. No, someone would have had to pin her wrist down and slash it to do that. So, who would do such a thing? And why?

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_Phintias_

The shop was empty. He had expected it to be, since the woman had left just as he turned his back, _Strange woman. Who wears black in Last Seed?_ As he was stacking the new books, the bell above the door tinkled. A Bosmer in red silk robes appeared and made a beeline for Phintias, "I'm here for my book." He said, as soon as he was close enough, "Mankar Camaron's Commentaries, Volume Three."

"Ah, yes." Phiantias ducked behind the counter and found the velvet-bound book, "Here you go. Keep us in mind for any future needs." He handed it over with a smile and was glad to see it returned,

"Thank you. You have no idea how long I've waited for the book." With that, he turned on his heel and hurried for the door, still with the smile on his face. That smile was short-lived, however. For, as soon as he reached the door, the shadows behind the bookcases moved.

_SLAM!_

The door banged shut and a hooded figure appeared between it and Gwinas. The Bosmer gave a little squeak of terror and leapt back, "Oh! You frightened the life out of me!" He composed himself and stood as tall as he could, though he still had to crane his neck to glare into her face. For Phintias recognised her as the woman he had just seen. She must have hidden behind the bookcases when he had his back turned and laid in wait, "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I need Mankar Camoran's Commentaries, Volume Three." Her voice was low but her outstretched hand made everything clear. Gwinas backed away, looking as though she had just asked him to give up his first-born son,

"Have you been following me?" He spat, "Leave me alone! That book is mine!" He tried to push past her but she leapt in his way. Phintias stared. Was she that desperate to get her hands on it? Demand for the Commentaries had increased of late for some reason. He had never read the books himself so he would not know what was so attractive about them. He didn't even know who this Mankar Camoran was,

"Just give me the book and I will leave you in peace."

"Are you threatening me, young lady?" Gwinas snapped, becoming more irate by the second, "I'm warning you, I'll call the guards if you don't leave me alone!" Phintias had half a mind to do that too. He couldn't have a fight in his shop, after all. As he opened his mouth, the woman spoke again,

"I do not think you will do that." Her voice had an accusing undertone, as though she knew something of a sensitive nature about Gwinas. Indeed, the Bosmer flinched at her words,

"What do you mean? I'm an upstanding citizen! I've nothing to hide!" Even Phintias could pick up the slight tremour in his voice. Though he wanted the argument to stop, he hesistated to call the guards, wanting to hear more. Again, Gwinas tried to push past her but again, was intercepted. It was then that it was clear that she was a Dunmer. Her dark skin was clear on her face, her dark lips downturned slightly,

"Do not trifle with me, Bosmer." Her voice was lower, more threatening, the malice within it clear. That wrapped sword on her back suddenly looked twice as threatening. Gwinas too realised that she would not let this go and said,

"Very well. I can see you are familiar with Mankar Camoran's 'Commentaries'. I know daedra worship is not quite the thing socially but that's just foolish prejudice and superstition." So, it was daedra worship. Phintias himself was indifferent to it and would sell books about it as long as it was in demand, "For the open-minded individual, daedra worship holds many rewards."

That was the wrong answer and the woman certainly didn't seem to think so. It happened in a flash, too fast for Phintias to see what exactly had transpired, but, in a trice, the book had crashed to the floor and Gwinas was being lifted right off his feet by the scruff of his neck. With the strength of a Nord or an Orc, she held him a few inches from the floor, her face right in his. She gave off an indescribable aura of suppressed rage, which made the temperature in the room seem to drop a few degrees, "H-hey!" Phintias gasped, "Come on, now! There's no need for that!"

"Fool." She did not seem to even hear him as she glared down at Gwinas with invisible eyes. The Bosmer paled considerably under it, "Do you even realise what the Mythic Dawn upholds? Do you have any idea what would be expected of a member? Do you even know what depths they would sink to in order to attain their goals? Even the Dark Brotherhood is disgusted by their actions and I will tell you why I will kill every last one of them." Gwinas was stuttering, losing all courage, barely making out any coherant words. As she spoke her next words, they doubled in venom, "_They murdered the Emperor_."

"W-What?" This startled Gwinas into speech, which had the exact opposite effect on Phintias. Those words hit him like a warhammer. He had heard of a daedric cult murdering the Emperor but not the specific one, "The Mythic Dawn were the ones?" His voice was now feverish in fear, "You have to believe me! I truly had no idea. I mean, I knew they were a daedric cult." And he went rambling on, as though trying to give her a reason to let him go, "Mankar's Camoran's views on Mehrunes Dagon are fascinating, revolutionary even." This earned him being raised another inch, putting the thin silk in serious danger of ripping, "But to murder the Emperor! Mara preserve us!"

"Will you give me that book?" It sounded more like an order than a request,

"Yes, of course! I don't want anything more to do with their insane plots! Now, please, _let me go!_" He was becoming desperate now, his feet flailing in a way that would be comical if it was not so terrifying,

"One more thing. I also need to find Volume Four, if you can lend me any assistance."

"You can only get a copy of Volume Four from a member of the Mythic Dawn. I-I had set up a meeting with the Sponser, as he called himself." For some reason, her lips sucked in a breath, as though she recognised the name, "Here." Gwinas shakily held up a rolled-up piece of parchment, "This tells you where to go. I-I don't want anything else to do with the Mythic Dawn."

She gracefully took it and not so gracefully dropped him. He landed with a _thump_ on his backside before her. She retrieved Volume Three and turned back to the quaking Bosmer, "You are fortunate that I caught you before you were initiated. Otherwise, I would have killed you right here and now." She said this with an eerie sweetness that made Phintias' skin crawl, "I will meet with this Sponser and kill him." Her mouth turned up into a nasty smile, "I have waited twenty years for the opportunity to do so. I thank you for directing me to him. Good day to you."

With a swirl of her dark robes, she left the shop. Gwinas sat there, shaking for a moment, before hurrying to his feet and scrambling from the place. As the bell tinkled for a final time, Phintias was torn. His instinct told him to go to the Imperial Legion at once to tell them that a murdering psychopath with a vendetta to settle was on the loose in the city.

Then again, she had good reason to want them killed. They had murdered the Emperor, after all, and she was probably doing the Empire a favour by getting rid of them. Either way, he decided, it wasn't his business and the main priority was to stop any further deliveries of Mankar Camoran's Commentaries.

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_Baurus_

_Plick...plick...plick..._

A steady fall of water droplets fell from a tiny crack in the ceiling, landing in a corner behind him. He kept his eyes steadily on the murky wall before him, trying not to let his eyes flick up to the shadows where Lenore was hiding. Her dark robes were perfect for the job because even his trained eyes could not pick her out. She obviously had some practise with it if she could accomplish that without a full Invisibility spell.

He forced himself to focus on the red-robed Altmer coming through the door to his left. As he sat at the table, he kept his hands beneath it, for the knuckles were steadily going white. So, that was the Sponser. Lenore had told him about him on the way there. Her knowledge was incredibly extensive and accurate. The description was just as she described it: a rectangular face with a tan darker than a normal Altmer's wont and an immaculate topknot perched on his head. His name was Raven Camoran and he was the son of the Mythic Dawn's Master.

As Raven spoke, Baurus' thoughts wondered to how she knew so much about the Mythic Dawn in the first place. He had not neglected to notice how her voice had hardened, though she strained to suppress it. His assumption about fighting them before seemed more strong and she had probably come off worse, probably leaving her with a bad scar and a chip on her shoulder.

Glancing up despite himself, he saw to his horror that two red-robed agents carrying torches were coming across the bridge, right towards Lenore's hiding place. At any moment, she would be spotted. Trying his best to glare right ahead to delay her discovery, he focused on the crest upon Raven's neck-clasp. In the light, the cut shape of a sun glimmered ruby in the dim candlelight, sending small chinks of light off onto the walls. The torchlight on the bridge grew ever closer...

And vanished. There was no scuffle, no cry of pain, just the torches falling heavily to the ground behind Raven. They clattered painfully loudly against the stone and Baurus could have groaned. Raven jumped and looked around. The traitorous sticks of wood rolled to and fro on the floor, as though parading themselves to declare that they were not alone,

"Hello?" He called, sharply, "Who's there?"

Nothing at first. Only still darkness. Then, a shadow moved and began walking out onto the bridge, very slowly and dragging what looked like two heavy wheatsacks along the ground in each hand. It was only when the Altmer threw an eerily-green mage-light upon the scene that he saw what it really was. It was like a scene of some terrifying, ancient legend, leaping out at you like a carving on a wall. Lenore stood, the two dead agent limp in her grasp. He could not yet see what had caused their deaths for only their backs and a small part of their hooded heads revealed. The mage-light threw sharp shadows on her face and glinted off her shadowed eyes like stars in the night. She looked like a goddess of death, come to take another soul,

"Looking for these two?" She asked, her voice a eerily light tone. With that, she released the bodies, which fell heavily to the floor to accompany their torches. She landed in between them when she leapt lightly from the bridge, landing without noise on the stone. Baurus had to wander if she had special shoes that muffled her footfalls or not. When her face rose, she had a chilling smile on her face the like of which Baurus had not seen before (and he sincerely wished he would not see again), "Long time, no see, Raven." Her elven claymore was raised.

Baurus carefully got up to his feet, unnoticed by either of them and got to the side to get a good look at their faces. Raven stood half a foot above her but he was still unnerved. His fear turned to anger and he rounded on Baurus, who suddenly became aware of his lack of armour, "I _told_ you to come alone! For Lord Da-AARRGHH!" From his raised hand, a familiar red light glowed from a brief instant before the spell was cut off. Literally, cut off. His red-sleeved arm thumped to the floor, followed by its once-owner.

Baurus did not see the claymore move; he had been concentrating on Raven's face, which was now contorted with pain. Lenore was standing over him, glaring down at him what Baurus felt might be triumph. Raven recovered himself and reached painfully for the tiny dagger at his belt. The claymore became a blur. The next thing Baurus knew, the Altmer's remaining hand lay on the ground beside the arm and Raven himself was pinned to the wall with her ebony claymore stuck into his gut and into the wall behind him.

Baurus had to swallow down some bile rising in his throat as Raven coughed out mouthfuls of blood; handless, helpless and pinned to the wall like a dead insect on parchment. In front of him, Lenore stood, the elven claymore raised to his throat, "And, there was me thinking you were dead." Her voice was intolerably sweet again, making Baurus' skin crawl, "Well, I does not matter now. In fact, I prefer it this way, Raven."

"Wh-what in Oblivion..." He managed to choke out, "...how d'you know...my name...?"

"Oh, now, don't tell me you have forgotten. I certainly have not, even if I was not completely lucid at the time. If you have forgotten, I shall remind you..." With that, she leaned in close on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear that Baurus could not make out. Whatever she had said, that struck a chord. Raven's eyes almost doubled in size and he paled considerable, not just from blood loss,

"Y-you..."

The claymore became a blur once more. A diagonal gouge appeared in the wall behind Raven's neck, where the blade had severed it. The topknot came loose from the head that rolled on the floor at her feet. The headless, armless body slumped at the waist with only the ebony claymore to keep it up. In the face of all this, Lenore smiled.

Voices could be heard in the passageway behind them. Baurus reached for his katana at once but Lenore halted him with her voice, "I invited them here. I will finish them."

"What?"

"Sleeper agents." She said, shortly. With that, she wrenched out the ebony claymore, letting Raven Camoran's body fall to the ground with a heavy thump. Baurus had to swallow again to push down the bile. He was used to seeing dead bodies but none killed in such an awful way. Lights now appeared and the shape of three people emerged. A Dunmer dressed in rich red velvet, a balding Nord and, the only female of the group, a blonde Breton. They halted at the gate where Baurus had come, having spotted her,

"Greeting, Sister." said the Dunmer. Baurus, hidden the shadows, realised that she must have woven the same lies over them as she had to the agent in Luther Broad's in order to lure them here, to kill them, "Is the Sponser here yet?"

"Oh, you just missed him." She said and Baurus could envision the wicked smile on her face as she held up the head. The Dunmer gaped, the Breton screamed and the Nord staggered. This split-second of shock was all she needed. The claymores, both in her hands, whooshed through the air just as Renault's katana had in the passage. They had only just pulled themselves together and had risen their arms to summon their armour when she struck. The elven one met with the Breton's neck and the ebony met with the Nord's at the same time, both severing and both fatal.

The Dunmer stood, shaking, seemingly rooted to the spot with fear. His arm was still raised, though nothing came from it. She was upon him in moments. No mercy, no hesitation, just an instant kill. The Dunmer was dead before he hit the floor, just like his comrades. With another woosh, she tossed the blood off the sword and sheathed them on her back.

Baurus was completely speechless. He knew that she had an obvious vendetta against them but never would have guessed that she would invite them under false pretenses to murder them. That was the province of assassins and murderers, something he would never do. She, however, was completely unphased by it. She picked up the severed arm of Raven in one hand and the fourth book they had come here for in the other, "Come." She said, striding up the stairs.

Baurus hurried to follow her, holding up a torch in an attempt to keep her in sight. Through the sewers they went, passing the bodies of rats and mud crabs they had fought before coming here. All the while, he thought hard about Lenore. She seemed to have a personal feud with Raven Camoran and hinted that she had been drugged. Had she been perhaps captured by them and had to fight her way out? Had Raven perhaps been the one who captured her?

"Sorry about my delay in arriving to the city, by the way." This statement came out nowhere, "Oblivion gates are beginning to open in the wilderness and amazingly little is done about them." It was then, as they came up out into the Elven Gardens that he noticed a black pouch at her waist, the sort where one would store money. It had many bumps in it, like it was full of marbles. Seeing him looking, she dipped in her hand and brought out what looked like a ball of compressed ash. Dim red embers glowed within it, some little dots of light, others rings around it, "Sigil Stones. I intend to visit the Arcane University to discover their power."

She was distracted at that point by loud cries coming from the streets. When they reached the square, they found a number of people running from the Market District as though the hordes of Oblivion were after them, _Hordes of Oblivion..._Cold dread filled Baurus, clutching his worse than ever. He reached for his sword and so did she. They ran out into the streets, dodging fleeing people and trying to ask what was going on.

They were all terrified, that was clear, but there was no indication of an Oblivion gate was nearby. He had been told what to look for in a conversation with Lenore. No smell of ash, no red-stained sky and no cries of daedra. Imperial Legion soldiers were now trickling in, endevouring to restore order without success. Baurus finally managed to get one to stop and demanded what was going on, "Mad horse on the loose!"

Baurus stood still, astonished at this. Lenore, however, gave a sigh, "I might have known." Reaching into her robe, she produced an ebony whistle and put it to her mouth. The blast she gave was so shrill that, despite their fear, everyone stopped and clasped their ears. It rang long and loud through the city and, when she had put it away, a ringing remained in his ears, muffling all sound.

He supposed that was why he did not hear it. A dark blur appeared at the gate closest to them, getting larger and larger as it drew near. Then, it stopped so abruptly that the hooves actually skidded on the cobbles a little. A steaming black horse stood in the middle of the square with blazing red eyes and a limp, robed figure slumped over the saddle. The ringing was ceasing now and he could hear Lenore sigh again, with good-humoured exasperation, "Shadowmere, was there really any need for that?"

The figure slid off the saddle and onto the ground, seemingly senseless from the wild ride. It was a female High Elf wearing a hooded mages robe, whom Lenore seemed to know for she crouched down beside her and asked, "Are you alright, Haecuba?"

"I-I'm sorry...Lis-Madam Lenore." She gasped, as soon as she pulled herself together enough. Baurus noticed the slight slip-up, just as he noticed her partly-shadowed face. It was pale to the extreme, seemingly terrified from her ordeal, and her defining feature (in his point of view) was her thick eyebrows, that settled above her eyes like dark caterpillars, "I-I just...she just took off...I couldn't...I no longer fear Oblivion, Madam Lenore...this horse has shown me there are worse things..."

"It's alright." Lenore's voice became consoling, as though reassuring a badly shaken war survivor, "It's over now. Deep breaths."

"Is that horse yours, ma'am?" The Legion officer asked, pushing his way past Baurus, "It's your responsibility to pay for this if it is."

From the tone of of her voice, it was clear that Lenore held no love for the Legion, "If it is, what would I have to do, _sir_?" The touch of sarcasm shocked even Baurus and angered the officer,

"Fifty gold for letting a horse into the city, about five hundred in damages and, perhaps, an extra fifty for contempt of the Legion. If not, you spend two weeks in prison."

Lenore turned with a sardonic sort of smile on her face to Haecuba, "I love a fair legal system." She turned back to the soldier, who was steadily going red in the face from suppressed rage at the sight of her lack of respect. Baurus, scenting danger, quickly brought his katana into view and said, as officially as he could,

"This is official business of the Blades. Our orders come from Grandmaster Jauffre himself and this is a petty mistake on our part. Please, do not hinder us."

The Legionnaire froze at the mention of the Blades and immediately lost all rage, "The Blades? Oh, well...that's another matter. Just get that horse out of here and everything will be fine." He marched off hastily, probably to report to Captain Phillida of the situation,

"Thanks." Lenore nodded in gratitude to Baurus, while Haecuba looked very impressed, "I normally just resist arrest and fight my way out but I suppose doing that saves time and energy."

They soon parted ways, as Lenore went to the Arcane University and Haecuba briefly accompanied him out of the city. She struck Baurus as a very nervous and self-conscious person with low self-esteem. She obviously respected Lenore a great deal and wasn't just clinging onto her for safety. Yet...as he watched her more closely, he realised the whole shy persona was an act. As they left the city, she walked a little taller and seemed less insecure, _Why act, though?_ He wondered. Was she like her mistress and wanted herself hidden all the time?

As he seperated from her at the stables, he still thought hard about the two. They were alike and not just in the way they dressed. Both were guarded, both wore masks all the time and were both in a guild where Lenore was superior. He guessed that the form of address that Haecuba nearly used was the title she owned in this guild. Lis-something. He made a note to speak with Jauffre about this, to see if he could garner any more clues.

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A/N: And more clues are thrown at you! I was thinking about calling this 'the Redguard chapter' because it's told from Redguards' POVs. Coming up...more Farwil!


	12. Chapter 11: The Wayward Knight

A/N: This'll be the last update I do before I go on holiday so there will be another delay. By the way, if anyone's interested, I've done a load of demotivational posters on Oblivion (you know, the ones with the black background and a picture with a funny caption) and posted them on my DeviantArt account. The link's on my profile if anyone's interested in having a look.

Nice haul of reviews too. Keep 'em coming! They keep this story going.

**maskedpainter: **If you love clues, you're going to like this chapter and LOVE Chapter 12. I plan to reveal even more there.

**Lily Ariel Black: **I was wondering whether Phintias was the best viewpoint to do it from. I thought about Gwinas himself and even Ocato (it made sense in my mind) but I settled with Phintias and it worked out.

**Zaleone: **A long review never hurt anyone. Keep 'em coming! I was worrying that I was going a bit too fast but I can see it's okay.

**Iyrsilea: **(Nice name) Thanks very much!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Thanks. And, you do a great story too. I can see some similarities between Lauraine and Lenore but you do it in a completely different way, which is good.

**Miss Lieress: **I was just wondering where you'd got to! Baurus does seem to be pretty popular, doesn't he?

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 11: The Wayward Knight**

Farwil sat restlessly on the rock, trying not to breathe in through his nose. The smell of blood and decay was everywhere, seemingly to come out the earth itself. The lava behind him made him sweat in his battered steel armour. He wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if it started melting off his body. The only sound was the rumble of thunder in the everlasting thunderstorm above and the shuffling feet of dremora somewhere in the distance.

Though he would never show it, he was dreading the time when the gate to the bridge behind him opened. There were no doubt dozens upon dozens of the beasts behind it and how many did he have? Just two, including himself. Jhared, who had been jeered at and called a coward for not accompanying them, had been right after all. This had been a total shambles and they didn't dare turn back. The daedra were probably regrouping and he couldn't face the world after failing his mission.

Bremman was still panting between uttering healing spells on himself. He had used up nearly all his magicka to heal Farwil and was having trouble with himself. Bremman had stuck with Farwil all the while, defending him at great cost to himself. Even he, who was a trained Fighter's Guild member, buckled under the hoards. Though the air shimmered with the heat, he felt suddenly cold with fear.

What he really wanted here now was Lenore. She felt no fear and was better than both of them put together. Her low voice never faltered and never failed to calm him. Even without inch-thick armour, she could crush the strongest enemy they came across. He had seen her at it when she suggested venturing into caves and ruins to test new moves. New moves he developed, not her. He had thought he was getting stronger but, now he was in the middle of Oblivion, he realised he couldn't be more wrong.

He hadn't seen her since that late-night meeting two weeks ago and had not heard from her since. He wondered if she knew anything about the Oblivion gates opening up everywhere. She would probably want to help close them, he was sure of that. The hordes of Oblivion held no fear over her. She, the most fearless person Farwil knew, would surely charge head on the daedra. He was soon amusing himself with images of her charging into the gate, cutting down everything in her path with ease -

Suddenly, a grinding noise made him leap to his feet. Bremman too whirled around, raising his sword with a trembling, bleeding arm. The door in the hillside was slowly creeping open, making Farwil's heart race with fear. He drew his sword, the metal jittering against the scabbard but he tried desperately to compose himself. He called to mind the advice Lenore had given him, _It's alright to be a little scared but do not succumb to full panic. Do not be too calm either. The right balance of both can lead to success._

However, reining in his fear was easier said than done. He didn't have her gift of showing no emotion and it was hard to achieve no matter how hard he tried. All the while, the door pushed itself steadily open. A humanoid figure emerged and Farwil, assuming it was a dremora, charged. Clasping his sword in both hands for greater momentum, he swung it at the intruder...and it met with a familiar elven claymore,

"Is this your way of saying hello, Sir Knight?"

"Lenore!" He could have hugged her, he was so glad to see her. Just the very person they needed appearing just at the right time. He recognised her at once by the swords but her clothes were so different. She was in full armour, elven like on that night they had last met, but a Kvatch cuirass was upon her body now. The hood was blood-red, which he knew he had seen before but could not put his finger on it.

She followed him to where they had been sitting a few moments before. Bremman was putting away his mace, looking relieved to see it wasn't a daedra. Once there, she leaned against the cliff and surveyed the both of them. This time, Farwil could see her doing it. For the hood was a little further back from her face than her usual one and he could see her eyes clearly for the first time. The last time he had, they had been shadowed by the mask she wore at the ball. Now, he could see them completely unshadowed.

They were bright ruby, the standard colour of a Dunmer. The eyelids were naturally shadowed, though, making them stand out even more. And, was it the light or was one a little bloodshot? They still held their penetrating power, though, and Farwil was sweating again, "I was told by a guard that you went in with seven but you two are the only survivors. Correct?"

"Yes." Farwil felt a bit uneasy, though he injected some gusto into his voice to try and motivate himself, "I set out with the rest of the Knights to dispatch this blemish on the face of our fine world. When we arrived, we were overwhelmed. I myself was able to kill two score of them, but they just kept coming. Only Bremman and I remain alive. With you here now, we can take the Sigil Stone from that citadel and complete our quest for the good of Cheydinhal! Huzzah!"

"What did I say about the 'huzzah's?" It was clear she wasn't convinced by his false energy. Not that he had expected her to be,

"Oh...yes...sorry..."

The familiar soulless smile graced her face, not extending to her eyes, "I assume that attempting to persuade you to leave this place will come to nothing?"

"Of course!" Inside, he was saying otherwise but, with her here now, he was sure everything would be alright, "A Knight of the Thorn never returns home until his mission is done. It's our way."

"I thought so." She reached back and drew her other sword. Farwil had only seen her use both her swords twice and it always astonished her how she could hold each of them up so easily. It was only then that he noticed her arms. The straining chainmail on her cuirass showed how thick and hard-muscled they were. He was amazed that he had not noticed before; he'd never expect that she had those arms. Then again, she had always been covering them with robe-sleeves so he supposed it wasn't a surprise, "Well then, that gate won't close itself. Onward and upward, come along."

"H-Hold on a minute!" Bremman spluttered, "Do you seriously plan to just charge in there without any planning?"

Lenore turned her gaze on him, making him falter under her gaze. Then, her face changed. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile and a manic gleam appeared in her eye, "As a matter of fact, yes, I do. It worked last time." She spread out her arms and lowered herself slightly, pointing the swords right at the dark doors before them. Her position looked like a sprinter waiting for the flare to start the race.

Just as she did, there was a mechanic grinding noise and the enormous black doors before them began to open. Farwil reached for his sword but Lenore turned her manic grin on him, "Don't worry, Farwil. I can handle this." And she sprang forward. Farwil's blood ran cold as he saw at least thirty dremora and even more daedra advancing their way. He cried out to stop her but too late. She met them head on...and Farwil's mouth fell open.

She never needed to strike twice. The claymores always found their mark and the daedra were dropping like dead flies all along the bridge. Her swords were just blurs as she whirled and danced along the bridge. That was the only way to describe it: dancing. Dremora and daedra fell before it and she was at the door of the gigantic black tower in a trice. It had all happened so quickly that Bremman and Farwil just stood for a moment, amazed,

"Well, come on, then!" She called, her voice now more alive than ever, "Let's not wait for the bloodgrass to grow!"

"Was-did she just-?" Bremman could barely piece together what he wanted to say. Not even the Fighter's Guild Champions were capable of doing that, Farwil guessed. They went forward in a shocked sort of haze, tripping over split bodies as they went. The manic fire was still in her eyes and her claymores were stained with blood, "You-you like doing this, don't you?" Bremman found his voice at last,

"Oh, yes."

With that, she shoved open the heavy door and stepped into the dark room beyond. A column of fire met their eyes at once, right in the centre of the room, extending well past their field of vision. The rest of the room was blackness, the fire column spreading surprisingly little light. Lenore scanned the room quickly and beckoned them forward.

They strode quickly and as quietly as they could. They had just reached the door when -

_CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!_

`Doors banged open on all sides and at least a hundred of the beasts swarmed in. Farwil shouted a curse and threw himself into the fighting. He felled one dremora and then another, all the while staring around for Lenore and Bremman. His heart grew cold when he realised that could not see them for the mass of daedra. The moment's distraction cost him dear. His sword became locked with a helmeted dremora and he was slowly being forced to the ground, buckling under the dremora's strength,

"_Burst, bloodsack._" A snarling, gutteral voice came from within the helmet as Farwil was forced to his knees. Then, all of a sudden, the dremora fell to the side, dead. What astonished Farwil further was the sight of an elven claymore sticking out of its neck. Looking around, he briefly saw Lenore before she was swamped by more of them, her hand outstretched like she had just thrown something.

It took him a few seconds to realise what had just happened. She had thrown away her dominant weapon to save him. Panic seized him. She wouldn't be able to fight as well without them and the pour of daedra seemed endless. He tried to reach for the claymore but a daedroth appeared out of nowhere. He managed to gouge at his eye but it knocked him sideways, gouging deep holes in his armour. Pain rushed through him, blurring his vision and making him feel faint. Stars winked before his eyes as his head hit the hard wall, _No!_ A voice in his head cried, _Can't give up now...need to find...Lenore..._

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"Farwil! _Farwil!_"  
His head was swimming. A faint cooling sensation tickled his chest, like someone running water over the sore parts, "Ugh..." was all he could manage out. He was vaguely aware of a throbbing at the back of his head and he instinctively moved a hand up to feel the damage,

"Farwil! Are you okay?"

"Brem...man...issat you...?" His vision was sharpening now. The pale face of Bremman finally emerged in the gloom before him. As his head and eyes cleared, he realised that he was sitting up against the wall of the chamber. The fire column loomed up behind Bremman, casting him half in shadow. As he sat up a bit straighter, he noticed something else shadowed against the fire. At first, he thought it was a cross. Then, he realised it was a sword standing upright in the floor. No, from out of a dead daedroth. A dead daedroth with a gouged eye, "Lenore!" He gasped, shooting up at once and receiving a sharp pang to the head as punishment.

He could still stand though and he could see that it was indeed her other claymore. The ebony one. A little way off stood the elven one. Both stuck from their targets in the mass of daedra bodies. He had once been told that, in long-won battles, soldiers' swords were the tombstones, struck into the ground on the place where they had fallen. Indeed, that was what it looked like. As he thought this, his insides turned to ice, "Where is she?" He asked, staring at the swords. No answer. The silence lengthened but Farwil's patience did not. Drawing his sword, he pointed it at Bremman, "WHERE IS SHE?"

Bremman's uneasy expression was all he needed. As well as the glance into a doorway cut roughly into the wall. He hurried to it, glaring around desperately in the gloom. He seemed to be in a small antichamber running around the fire column room, where the dremora must have been waiting to ambush them. Something splashed at his feet. Looking down, he saw with a lurch of his stomach that he had stepped into a pool of fresh blood. A light appeared and Bremman was at his elbow, holding a broken piece of wood that held a flame at the top. Its light cast about the place and onto a limp figure. It was only when all movement stopped did he hear her panting.

Lenore was slumped in an upright position against the wall. Her hood was still intact. The only thing that was still intact. The rest of her armour was gouged, torn and cracked. That was nothing compared to her body, though. There was not an inch of her that was not covered in blood. Deep gashes sliced through her and the only part of her that was moving was her heaving chest,

"She threw away both her claymores to save you." Bremman was now checking her pulse, "Ah, still alive. Then, she fought with her dagger and her bare hands. I've never seen anything like it. She fought those things like she was possessed. I saw her break a dremora's neck with her bare hands just before they retreated. Then, just as they went off, she went here and asked if you were okay."

"She...she asked about me...?" Farwil snapped out his horrified stupor at these words. Bremman was now uttering more healing spells, trying to coax the terrible wounds to close,

"Yeah. She told me to make sure you were alright first and to just leave her until you were. I didn't want to but she insisted."

Farwil had no power to speak. He watched Bremman work on her for a while and then, unable to look at her terrible state, whisked round, muttering, "Going to keep watch." Once out of sight, he backed against the wall and slid down it, his head in his hands. Suddenly, he felt ten times more frightened of being here. Of course, it had been stupid to come here. What did he know about fighting off hordes of daedra? What a fool he'd been! If only he had listened to his father, if only he had listened to the guard...if only he'd listened to her.

Lenore had fallen to protect him, something he ought to have done for her. It was his fault. That had fixed in his mind; her injured state was all his fault. If only he had been a bit stronger, a bit more careful, she wouldn't have been hurt and she wouldn't be on the brink of death right now. She had paid for his mistake and, without her...

Panic was fully gripping him now. Bremman had said that they had retreated only. What if they knew Lenore was injured and were just waiting to ambush them again? He glanced around the place through his fingers for any signs of movement, though he could not have fought them, being so frozen in fear. He wanted to go back into the antichamber and hide but he had no power to move.

His heart pounded in his chest, his insides felt cold and the blow to his head acted up again. The pain in his skull increased until he felt that someone had cleaved his head open. He felt very sick and he wanted nothing more than to be back home. How long had he lingered in this place? How long had it been since he had seen the beautiful County Cheydinhal?

He barely felt himself rise to his feet. Everything seemed far away and dim. His legs felt like lead and yet he willed them to shuffle forward. He could not move beyond a stumbling walk under the weight of the pain and his despair. Never had he felt so small and pathetic as he did then. Even his legs gave up after a while and he slumped against something thin and upright.

Panting, he pushed down the bile in his throat and closed his eyes to try and stop the world spinning. At last, the pain lessened and he could open his eyes. Clutching his head, he looked up at the support. Her elven claymore, standing out of that dremora's neck. Despite being so frightning before, he now drew comfort from the sight. This sword was hers and never broke no matter what was thrown at it.

It was strange. He had never thought much of elven stuff, calling it 'flashy and flimsy'. This sword was nothing of the sort. It was deadly, swift and true. Now that he'd pulled himself together, Farwil could stand up again without wobbling. He could almost hear her voice saying, "_That's it. Stand up. It's alright to be frightened but don't let it overcome you._"

Thinking that she would not want her swords to stay embedded in daedra flesh, he yanked out the sword. It was light in his hands and, as he held it in both hands, he felt a surge of new courage. Of course, she was going to be alright. He was just being silly. She'd probably been through a lot worse than this. He almost laughed at his own moment of weakness and he was sincerely glad no one had seen him.

He propped the sword against the wall close to the doorway and picked up the ebony one. This one was another story. It was a lot heavier, so heavy that he could barely lift it. He just had to drag it across the floor, making her respect her strength all the more. It was still very sharp for, as he looked down, he saw it gouging a thin path in the floor as it was dragged along. He propped it next to the elven one.

Now that he could get a closer look, he noticed something. Letters carved on the hilts of each sword. Due to the half-light, he had to trace them with his finger to find their meaning. On the elven one was the word _Lucien_ and the ebony one had _Vicente_. He had never heard those names before but they both sounded Breton. Or Imperial. He searched his mind for any mention of those two names Lenore had made in any conversation but nothing came. In fact, he realised that he had never asked her about these swords or why she was so desperate to wield two.

It was such a big gap in his knowledge of her that was glaring him in the face. Then again, she probably wouldn't tell him if she asked him. He touched the hilt of the elven claymore again and, in doing so, felt something. The top of the hilt was seperated ever so slightly from the pole. On closer inspection, he found it to be on a screw. He had heard of Ayleids using the hilts of their swords as secret hiding places for top secret messages but never thought that elven things could still be used like this.

Curiousity overtook him and he unscrewed the top eagerly. Poking two fingers in, he found something. He managed to dislodge it and bring it out. A scroll of parchment done up with dark satin ribbon came out. Just as he was about to open it, he heard movement from within. Acting purely on instinct, he stuffed the scroll in his armour and hastily screwed on the sword top.

He took his hands off the sword just in time. Lenore appeared in the doorway with Bremman close at her elbow. Her armour was still ripped and bloodsoaked but she could stand strong before him as though nothing had happened, "Lenore!" He gasped, the desire to hug her coming upon him again, "You're alright!" At once, everything was alright. The daedra were nothing and Lenore lived.

She gave him a brief nod, the ends of her mouth twitching up in her usual soulless smile. Seeing her weapons, she picked them up at once, "Come." She gestured towards the door, "The sooner that gate is closed, the better."

This time, Farwil kept close to the back and attacked straggling scamps and clannfears. Lenore dealt with the larger and numourous opponants with ease as she always did. Farwil felt that they would make it for sure with her leading them. When they reached the top of the tower, where a red dome cast a blood-red light upon them, they stopped for a little rest. Lenore stayed close to the place they had come out of in case of daedra following them and Bremman nudged Farwil's elbow,

"I'm amazed she's keeping on like this." He said, in a low whisper, "Her wounds aren't fully healed."

"Aren't they?" Farwil glanced around, puzzled. She looked perfectly fine to him and that blood had to be just stains from her close call,

"No. She came to just as I was half-done and insisted we move on. She can't go on like this for much longer and I'll bet those wounds have reopened by now. It's incredible that she's not showing any pain. She must be in agony."

It was perhaps lucky that they were nearly there. Now that he looked, he noticed her slow down a little as she battered a gang of daedroth. He dealt the killing blow on the last one for her just to try and help but she did not acknowledge it, "Are you - are you feeling okay, Lenore?" He asked, after they had ascended to a large red platform where something dark spun at the top of the fire column. A single nod in reply, "It's just..." He itched the back of his neck, feeling the lump where he had struck his head, "...Bremman said you were still hurt and..."

"I'll be fine. Do not concern yourself with me." She reassured him. With that, she unflinchingly stuck her hand in the flames and pulled out the black Sigil stone. A whirl of confusion ensued. The whole place shook, chains from the ceiling came loose and a blinding white light filled the room.

Then, a hissing noise filled his ears, as well as strange little pressure on his arms that he had thrown up to protect his eyes. Seperating them, he saw a plane of grass and the dark shape of the Cheydinhal walls before him. He felt like his was inflating with delight and relief. He was home. The gate was gone. The nightmare was over,

"We made it..." He breathed,

"Yeah." Bremman nodded, "Just about."

Lenore stood before them, the Sigil Stone in her hand, panting. Farwil hurried to her side, "Do you need some help. The castle healer..."

"No, my sister will-" She cut off, as though remembering something, "Actually, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

"Why?" A little panic entered into him again, "Are your wounds worse?"

"No. My sister'll go berserk if she sees me like this." She turned to him with an awkward little grin on her face, "And I'd rather have another go at the daedra than put up with her having a go at me."

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Ulene and her helpers dealt with Bremman and Farwil pretty quickly and discharged them before turning their attention to Lenore. Farwil wanted to stay outside and wait for her but was thwarted by his father, hot and breathless, having just heard the news that Farwil was safe, "Oh, thank the Nine! Thank the Nine!" He cried, throwing his arms around him and holding him so close that Farwil felt like he was in danger of being strangled,

"Father, I'm okay." He insisted, "Get off."

But Andel Indarys was almost delirious with happiness and would listen to none of his son's protests. He commanded him and Bremman to come into his quarters to give a complete account of what had happened. Farwil was sincerely glad Bremman had stayed with him to share the burden of giving the whole tale to his father. He was also glad when there was a knock on the door when Farwil had just finished telling him about the last horde of daedroth and Ulene appeared,

"Is Lenore alright?" He asked, at once, standing up,

"Yes, yes, she's fine." Ulene nodded, smiling brightly, "A rather close shave but she's fine. Your friend is a very good healer, Lord Farwil."

Bremman flushed a little at the compliment and the Count rose, "Come. Show us to her. I want to be able to reward her properly for her efforts."

So, the four of them set off for the library, where Ulene had left her. On the way, she told the Count things about her that made Farwil's ears prick up, "...let her borrow one of my dresses since her armour desperately needs mending. While I was healing her, I found out that she wears a wig under that hood all the time. Though I can't see why. Her hair's such a pretty colour. A pity that her body isn't so pretty. She has the most _horrible _scars."

"Tell on." The Count listened intently, as serious as though hearing about his own child having horrible scars,

"I've counted about seven all over her. All very old. About twenty years old, I'd say. The worst is one on her stomach. I don't think it healed properly, it looked terrible. Like someone had shoved a mace right into her stomach. And, that one on her shoulder! It was like she was stabbed right through! The one I really hate is one right across her face. I think it might have done damage to her eye. And she wouldn't let me do anything about them. She said she wanted to keep them. Said they 'had become a part of her'. She even hid the one on her face with concealer instead of healing it."

They reached the library at last and Farwil immediately picked out a Dunmer woman sitting at a table, reading a thick, leather-bound book. Whatever Farwil had expected her appearance to be, it wasn't this. Her hair was not the long straight black that he supposed had been the wig Ulene mentioned. Instead, it was a bright orange, exactly the same colour as the tiger lily in the vase on the table where she sat. It hung loosely on her shoulders, making the red of her dress look rather dull and dingy.

The scar Ulene had mentioned was there, starting halfway down her forehead and ending on her cheek at a place level with her nose. That explained why one eye looked bloodshot. Her dress had puffed sleeves in an attempt to hide the muscle but was rather tight around the waist. When she stood, he saw that the arms really did not fit on her body. She had the rather stretched look of an overgrown child, emphasised by her shadowed eyes. Her body was thin and frail-looking; that robe she always wore must have swamped her.

Ulene held Lenore at arm's length, as though judging a newly painted portrait, "You're far too thin, dear. You need feeding up."

"I think I can help with that." The Count chipped in, "I plan to have a magnificent banquet to celebrate the closing of that accursed gate tonight and you will be invited, of course."

"In fact," Ulene straightened up a little to give herself more authority, "it's not just an invite. It's healer's orders."

"I thank you." It was Lenore's voice that came from the dark mouth, alright. Low and polite, "I hope I am not intruding too much upon your hospitality, Count Indarys."

"Not at all! Not at all!" The Count waved a hand, genially, "It is an honour and a pleasure to have the Hero of Kvatch in my home. Might I also add that I cannot think of anyone more suited to the job of closing these gates than you."

Farwil was at first confused by the title but then he remembered the rumours of the Hero of Kvatch. Wearing a Kvatch cuirass, a red hood and wielding two claymores. He really should have known it was her when he heard of the two claymores,

"Now then," His father straightened up importantly, "if you would please you to come with me, I can reward you properly for saving my son."

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A/N: Now, I'm off to Greece! And I'm expecting loads of reviews by the time I get back!


	13. Chapter 12: The Banquet

A/N: Finally! A laptop-less holiday, a wearying heatwave and the disastrous loss of the first draft of this could not stop me from writing this chapter! Sorry for the delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Now, this is a chapter that appeals more to girls in my eyes. You'll see why when you read on.

**BloodandDiamonds: **Greece was great. A bit on and off with the weather but great. I've got no tan to prove it though because I stayed under a parasol all day. Ah, well. Anyway, keep reading this story. The story of the scars and the scroll will be revealed in due time.

**maskedpainter**: Well, you'll just have to wait and see.

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **Thanks for thinking that. You never like Farwil at first with the 'huzzahs' and being a general nuisance in the quest but he's kinda grown on me.

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 12: The Banquet**

_Andel_

The treasury was ablaze with torches and magelights; stratigically placed where he felt the different light colours would highlight the treasures there. The torchlight set off Lenore's hair nicely but the magelights drained gave it an odd, unlovely colour. While they descended, Andel had viewed Lenore as critically as Ulene. Indeed, she looked ill with her wan cheeks, shadowed eyes and pinched waist.

Her figure reminded him of a set of dolls Farwil had once played with that one could take apart and reassemble with parts from the others. Thick arms, a frail body, hardened eyes and brightly coloured hair. Dark skin, bright hair. Hard muscle, fragile body. A pretty face, a strong demeanor. The more he examined her, the more contrasts he found in her. He felt that he could have gazed at her for hours and found more.

Andel deliberately took his time getting to the place he wanted them to be like he always did in the hopes that they would take in more of the wonderful treasures he had. He was being showy, he knew it, but he couldn't help it. Among his close friends, he was known as 'Magpie-eye' for his love of great riches and his desire to collect as many as he could. However, Lenore made no comment and Farwil had seen it all before.

They reached a low table where a staff and a sword lay side by side. Once Farwil and Lenore had stopped, he cleared his throat and said, "I am in possession of two fine heirlooms of the Indarys family, passed down through generations. You may pick from either the Staff of Indarys or the Thornblade."

The answer was immediate, "I cannot use staffs well so the Thornblade is the best choice."

"The Thornblade, it is!" With a glowing smile, Andel handed it over, feeling a small twinge of regret at giving up one of his treasures but happy that it pleased her nonetheless. She took it delicately, as though it were made of glass, and drew it. Lenore did not flinch when it glowed upon being released when Farwil gave a small jump. Then, it vanished into a silver blur. Andel's eyes widened as it moved so fast that it seemed to leave a trail like a firework. It was clear to see why she was so adept at closing Oblivion gates; she wielded the sword like it was part of her arm,

"This is a good blade." She stated, unnecessarily, as though she could not see the two of them staring. Sheathing it, she affixed it around her waist,

"Excellent! I'm glad you like it." Andel smiled, "Oh, and, before you go off to Ulene, I want to show you something."

"Father!" groaned Farwil, "You're not going to bore her with that stupid ring again, are you?"

A twinge of annoyance went through Andel. How could Farwil not appreciate its beauty? True, he had seen it presented about twenty times and might be a bit tired of it but Andel couldn't get enough of seeing it. Lenore graciously followed him to the very back of the treasury, behind a line of full Reman suits of armour. She slipped between the gap with plenty of room to spare while Farwil sent the suits wobbling dangerously.

Behind the line was a rather cramped space indeed, with nothing but a velvet covered case. That was just fine, though. It meant that his audience had a better view of it. As always, Andel felt a surge of pride and nervousness as though he was being presented to the Emperor, "Here, in this case," He lowered his voice slightly for dramatic emphasis, "is what some call the Jewel of the River. Since it was found near the beginning of the White Rose River. Made from gold and silver, amber and obsidian, decorated with Ayleid runes and with very little history to go on. No one has claimed ownership, no one can recognise it. It's quite the mystery."

He glanced at them to see their reaction. Lenore looked only mildly interested and Farwil rolled his eyes. With a flourish, he whipped off the velvet covering. The reaction was immediate.

_CLANG! CRASH! BANG!_

Three suits of armour fell with an incredible cacophany of noise. After whipping round, Andel realised that Lenore looked as though she had just come across a horribly mutilated body. Her hands were thrown over her mouth, her eyes wider than ever and tears were starting to glisten. Farwil was instantly trying to find out what was wrong,

"What's the matter?" He asked, confused and thrown by her sudden outburst of emotion. She said nothing but slowly, like a sleepwalker, lowered her hands and began to step slowly towards the case. She made it in two steps and delicately splayed her hands upon the glass, looking down at the ring. After a long pause, she managed to choke up the words,

"When did you find this?"

"About...four years ago." Andel said, after a bit of thought, "Farwil found it, actually. On a trip back from Skingrad. Just a week before he met you, in fact." He stopped there, because tears were beginning to spill over her eyes. Both men reached for their handkerchieves. Farwil got there first and pressed it into her hand. This, in turn, was pressed to her face, making only her sparkling eyes visible. All hardness had gone from them now and they were completely unguarded, "Do...do you know it?"

"This ring once belonged to me." She managed out, her voice slightly muffled. Andel started at this; he had only managed to trace it back to Red Diamond Jewellery in the Imperial City. It had been specifically comissioned by an Imperial artist twenty years ago who had done an detailed sketch to show exactly how he wanted it. Once made, he had given it to his newly-wed wife as a wedding present. He could not track down their names or a clear description of them.

"When?" Andel asked as compassionately as he could,

"Twenty years ago. It was a present from my husband." It was Farwil's turn to start at the mention of a husband, "He gave it to me on our honeymoon."

Andel realised what had happened straight away, "Did he...pass away?" She gave a tiny nod that was almost invisible in the flickering light, "Oh, I'm so sorry." Andel truly meant it. He knew the pain of bereavement all too well. More words were choked out, grief now seizing her,

"He was killed and-and the ring was s-stolen just afterwards by his-his killer."

"Oh, that's dreadful!" Andel gasped. How anyone could kill a man and rob his widow was simply unthinkable. At this point, she was crying so much that she had to cover her eyes with the handkerchief, concealing her face entirely. Farwil, uncomfortable at her distress, reached over and took up the ring.

It glimmered in the torchlight and Andel again marvelled at its beauty. The ring itself was different on each side. Woven with gold on one side and silver on the other. In the gold side was set a fiery amber and on the silver, a murky obsidian. Both were in an identical triangular shape so, since they were set so close together, they looked like a split diamond. The Ayleid runes were carved on the inside while unfathomable letters were carved on either side of the jewels. On the gold side was 'Vini' and on the silver was 'Lu'. The artist had specified this feature, apparently, but had not explained its meaning.

He snapped out of his admiration when Farwil spoke, with the great determination he had when he had asked his father to form the Knights of the Thorn officially, "Father, Lenore is the rightful owner. You won't auction it and, if you don't let her have it, I'm throwing it back in the river. We don't need it and it's better suited worn by someone, not collecting dust down here. What do you think?"

As much as he hated to hear such threats, he had to admit his son had a point. The ring was priceless and no bidder could truly reach the right price. Andel did not want to lose it either. Lenore's eyes peeped over the handkerchief, now looking even bigger and more childlike, glittering with tears. That made up his mind in an instant. He could not say no, "Yes. Lenore, you should have this."

Her muffled sobs stopped at once and the handkerchief slipped from her face, showing surprise on her face, "Do...do you mean it?"

"Of course." Andel smiled his warm smile at her. He watched (not without a small twinge of guilt at his decision) as Farwil took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit and looked even better worn. Still astonished, she lifted her hand to examine it, letting it cast light onto the walls. Gradually, her mouth stretched into a big smile,

"Oh, thank you! You have no idea how much of a comfort this is to me."

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_Ulene_

Ulene finished getting ready for the banquet and called Lenore up for her preparations. She had good things in mind as to what to do with her and was already pulling out dresses for her to try on when she had sent the message. It was a good thing that Ulene had thin arms and wore puffed or robed sleeves to make them look bigger. They would very useful for Lenore to cover up all that unsightly muscle.

That was the strange thing about Lenore. She was clearly a thoroughbred Dunmer with no Nord or Orc blood in her. Therefore, to gain that muscle, she had to do it the hard way by endless work. Why on earth would any beautiful, delicate woman like her want to ruin their body like that? And, then, there was those scars and the tattoos. Was she really that self-destructive?

When Lenore entered the room, she had a lovely smile on her face as though something wonderful had happened to her. Ulene never asked her why but got straight down to it. She filled the sink with hot water and pulled out conditioning potions. She hadn't had a chance to wash Lenore's hair and it had been saved from most of the grime from Oblivion.

Lenore's bright hair splayed out in the water like flaming oil, spreading and unfurling from its heavy waves. Ulene immediately got to work, getting into the full swing of getting a lady ready for a big event. She was once Countess Indary's handmaiden and had done this many times in her youth. Her fingers still remembered how to work the potion into every lock but, of course, Lenore was the exact opposite of the Countess.

Llatharsa Indarys had been chatty and happy, responding to every comment. Lenore, on the other hand, was the exact opposite; melancholy and silent. She had figured that out in the awkward silences when she had been healing her. Just as her hair was the exact opposite. While Llatharsa's hair was straight and manageable, Lenore's was thick, wild and wavy. Such an astonishing colour too. There was only one Dunmer house who was famous for being the only ones with that colour,

"Lenore?"

She glanced up at her,

"Are you related at all to house Harla."

"House Harla?" She raised an eyebrow, "I have not heard of it. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing." Ulene shrugged, "It's just that house Harla is famous for people with that hair colour."

Once she had finished, she used hot air from the pipes to dry it, picked up the comb and then came the real problem. Within minutes, the comb was stuck fast, even though the conditioning potion was meant to make it easier to comb through. Though she made no sound when her wounds were being healed, Lenore screamed when Ulene tried to pull it out. And those tangles were completely impossible. It took about ten seconds to solid tugging to get one out and each one seemed worse,

"Stop it!" snapped Lenore, after the third knot was thwarted and two teeth were lost,

"You stop your fussing!" Ulene snapped back, positioning the comb for another assault, "How often do you comb this? It's like a haystack."

"I don't." She said, without any guilt, "I often don't need to-OUCH!"

"Well, it's your own fault, then. Now, hold still."

After more conditioning potion, more screaming and some creative swearwords from both of them, the hair was free of knots. Ulene felt viciously proud; she had triumphed over the hair. Then, armed with styling tools, she began to force it into a courtly style. Still, it would not cooperate. Wisps fell out of even the most secure knot, more knots were discovered and Ulene had to fight down the urge to seize a pair of shears.

In the end, though, she managed it. Both keeping the hair up and resisting the desire to chop it all off, _There!_ She thought, savagely, _Not so smart now, are you?_ Then, she realised that she was feeling hate for inanimate hair. The comb was ruined; half the teeth missing and the rest choked with orange knots. Throwing it in the waste-paper basket, she pulled out her nail equipment and set to work trying to make her broken nails look presentable.

It was astonishing how little care Lenore seemed to give them. Her hands and her feet were callused and neglected. Though Ulene worked hard on them, they were still hardened and looked nasty. She of course mentioned that she should take care of them better but Lenore didn't seem to be listening. It was further proof that she was so neglectful of her own body and Ulene could not get her head around it.

Next, was the outfits. Ulene had not met a girl who didn't warm up at the prospect of trying on new clothes...until now. At the sight of the prospective clothes, Lenore rolled her eyes, "What's the matter?" asked Ulene, a little affronted. Her dresses weren't that bad, were they?

"You simply remind me of someone I once knew. She felt fashion was a main priority and would impose that on me. It was really rather irritating."

However, she consented to try them on, though she did not pay any attention. When asked what she thought, she would give a non-committal sort of answer and only look briefly in the mirror at herself. Ulene was beginning to get frustrated again and pressured her to make a decision. She just looked back and forth from dress to dress, not really seeing them. In the end, based dominantly on Ulene's advice rather than her opinion, she chose one.

Lastly, she pulled out her make-up. This time, Lenore took one look at it and turned away, "That will not be necessary."

"Just to cover up that scar."

"Do you cover up facial disfigurement with lip rouge?"

"Just a little hint."

The argument continued on like that for about a minute before Ulene was finally beaten and all she wore was a concealer for the scar. Ulene still felt that she would look a lot better with a little hint of rouge on her cheeks to make her look less ill. Still, there was a lot of time to go before the banquet started. Time to convince her.

However, she stopped listening again and pulled a piece of parchment towards her. Finding a piece of charcoal, she took a position in a chair in front of the mirror, leaned the parchment on a book and, soon, her hands were whizzing over the page. Now and again, she looked up at the mirror, then to her parchment and then to the mirror again. After a few attempts of conversation, she realised that Lenore would not answer and it was better trying to get a word out of the wall. So, she glanced over her shoulder.

She was drawing something. A woman with a stately hairstyle and a long robe-sleeved dress. The same woman had dark skin and light hair. Ulene released that she was drawing herself in the mirror. The portrait was so lifelike, it was incredible, "You're very good at this." She said, though she knew it did not cover her talent,

"I thank you." Only Lenore's lips moved. Her eyes never flicked up, "I do not normally draw self-portraits but you have worked so hard that I do not think it should be forgotten."

"Oh." was all Ulene could say. She was adding details now, the pattern on the dress and more lines on the hair. Lenore had a very good eye for detail and was clearly very practised in this. It was a while before she could pluck up the courage to ask, "Do you draw often?"

No answer. She was too caught up in her own work to look up. She was finished in an amazingly short time and, just as Lenore was standing up, there was a knock at the door. Count Indarys and Farwil were there, both dressed in their finest. Lenore put down her work on Ulene's table but Ulene spotted her slip a few sheets of parchment into the book she was leaning on as well as the piece of charcoal and hide all of this in her pocket.

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_Farwil_

His mouth fell open as Lenore came out of the room. He had never seen her look so feminine and (there was no better word for it) beautiful. Dressed in a robe-like white dress with red and black decorations and her hair up, she looked just like an empress in Farwil's eyes. He recognised the dress as Ulene's best gown only used about once every year. Lenore looked better in it, in his opinion, though.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything about how she looked, his father had beaten him to it, "You look wonderful, Lenore! I can see Ulene hasn't lost her touch."

"Thank you, Count." She inclined her head slightly and smiled modestly like a true lady. He had been plucking up the courage all afternoon and now, swallowing his fear, he offered his arm to her. She blinked in surprise, looking from his face to the arm. For a horrible moment, it looked as though she might reject him. Then, she smiled and coiled her arm around his.

With that, the four of them descended to the dining hall, where what looked like people from all over Cyrodiil had come. Ulene hurried off to join Bremman and, as soon as the three of them entered, everyone hurried to their seats. His father's place was in the centre of the high table, Lenore on his right, Farwil on left. All three stayed standing as his father spoke,

"Today, we have gathered here to celebrate the safe deliverance of my son, Farwil, and his intrepid Knights of the Thorn from the nightmare realm of Oblivion that torments us all today. We give thanks to the Nine and their servant, Lenore, the Hero of Kvatch, for saving our city and its heir. To the Nine." The words reverberated around the hall, "To Lenore." Again, the words echoed, "Now, let all drink deep and commemerate this wonderful event."

They sat down to a round of applause and Lenore turned to the Count, "Good speech. Nice and short."

"Oh, I don't like to bore everyone."

_It's when he gets down into the treasury that he bores everyone, _thought Farwil. Leaning over to look at her, he saw the ring still glimmering on her finger. He was still utterly astonished that something he'd found simply by accident could be so important. He had swiped it from the river as a last-minute decision as a present for his father and was astonished to find his father so fascinated by it. Just as he thought this, his father said,

"So, Lenore, perhaps you can tell us a little more about that ring if you feel you're up to it?"

"How much information have you garnered so far?" Lenore asked, with no trace of tears this time,

"Well, I've put adverts in the Black Horse Courier. I'm surprised you didn't respond to them."

"Oh, I do not receive the Black Horse Courier. I think it dreadfully inaccurate and the stories are more embelished then the Emperor's palace at Midyear."

Andel blinked in surprise. Even Farwil was astonished by this wit that had materialised in her. Certainly, she was good with words and always sounded educated but she never used sharp wit like that. Andel recovered himself and said, "Well then, I suppose that's why. But, where on earth do you get your news if you do not get it."

"Well," she dropped her voice so Ulene next to her could not hear (who was trying to pile as much food as she could on Lenore's plate), "at the risk of sounding arrogant, I do not need to read the news the next day as I am often there when it happens." She took a sip of her wine, signalling that subject of conversation was over, "So, you put adverts in the paper and did that come to anything?"

"Why, yes, actually." Andel nodded, "I got most of my information from Red Diamond Jewelry in the Imperial City. You know of that place? Yes, of course, you do. The owner told me that it had been comissioned by an Imperial artist who did a very exact sketch of what he wanted it to be. He even had it with him and showed me. It detailed everything about it and he was very firm that everything he specified was there. It was to give to his bride on their honeymoon, which I suppose would be you. Now that I think of it, he did mention that the bride was a Dunmer."

"The Ayleid runes you spoke of on the inside." She asked, halfway through her piled plate and sneakily trying to push some off, "Have you attempted to translate them?"

"Yes." Andel nodded, rather excitedly. Farwil resisted the urge to roll his eyes; his father had paid an indecent amount for a professional translator to come in from the Imperial City which was taken out of the fund for his Knights of the Thorn Lodge and delayed the construction, "I have found out that it means 'One can never be torn apart'."

She gave another gasp and Farwil was beginning to worry that she was about to burst into tears again. However, she managed to recover herself and, in response to the stares, explained, "That was exactly what he said to me when he gave it to me when I asked him why he wasn't wearing a ring."

"This...husband of yours," Farwil said, after a few more moments of silence, "I know he was an Imperial but...well...who was he?"

He had tried to piece it together in a way that wouldn't upset her but, as he said, he realised how stupid it sounded. He felt his face flush again as she turned her face slowly to him and held him with her stare. Andel gave him a sharp nudge and whispered, "Don't ask her about that!"

"It's alright, Count Indarys." Lenore waved a hand, graciously, while carefully moving a garlic-marinaded piece of chicken Ulene had forced on her plate back into the platter, "I believe it is time I said it aloud to someone." She settled her cutlery on her plate and put her hands flat on the table, "My husband and I were part of a select guild which you probably would not have heard of and one I am forbidden to tell of. A very secretive sort of company, if you get my meaning.

"He was the one who first initiated me. I ran into him practically straight after I first ran away from home. I was a teenager, headstrong and thinking I knew best. Much like Farwil, here." She added, making him flush, "I ran off, thinking I'd be alright. It was lucky I ran into him when I did or I might have died of my own heady stupidity. He offered me a roof over my head, promise of some money and a close knit family of group members. I couldn't really say no.

"I don't really remember many details of the work I did but I do remember the time between jobs. We were very close and I loved them with all my heart. I barely saw my husband at that time. Being the head of my band of guild members, he had duties to attend to that took him away from our guildhall. I, as you say, went off him a bit for a while and grew closer to another man. A vampire in fact. Yes, I know it seems shocking to you but he was the rarest of things: a civilised vampire. He was an absolute gentleman to me and, if he bit me, he covered it up very well.

"But, the guild was on hard times. A traitor was knawing away at the very structure of it from the inside, killing important members every few months and always leaving with no clue to lead us to him. My husband first confided in me a year after my initiation and I kept the secret within me from the others. I wonder sometimes if I was right to do so.

"This traitor soon became bold and, in one fell swoop, killed all of my brothers and sisters within their guild hall. Only I and my husband remained. In my grief, I fell ill and, in his anger, my husband cut off all ties from the higher members to look after me. The lack of any other company hastened our bonding and, within a few weeks, we were married.

"We spent two weeks honeymoon in the Tiber Septim hotel and, on the first day, he gave me this ring." She held it up again. Farwil barely noticed the last two courses coming, he was so enraptured by her story. He barely even registered what he was putting in his mouth; he just chewed and swallowed routinely, not really tasting it, "After our stay in the Imperial City, we returned to his home where we spent another month with nothing but each other's company. We almost forgot that we were part of that guild and made no contact with them, neglecting both our duties and putting ourselves at risk. It took the leader of our guild himself to snap us out of it."

"Those must have been very happy times." The Count said, in a low voice. Ulene, Naspia and Bremman had now joined in listening to this tale but Lenore was oblivious to her growing audience,

"Yes. But all good things had to come to an end. Still, we managed to keep our relationship a secret. We seperated to go about our duties but the traitor still roamed free. Soon, he began manipulating me in the shadows to jeopardise the ruling people of our guild, even killing some of them. To make matters worse, I managed to do it in a way that implicated my husband!"

The first bit of emotion trinkled into her voice and her hands clenched into fists, "My husband was forced to go on the run but managed to get the message to me that I was being manipulated. I cannot tell you how shocked and frightened I was when I heard. I wanted to go to the remaining members and tell them that he was innocent straight out. Even give them a piece of my mind if I had to. He would hear none of it, though. He showed me a lead to follow, gave me the location of his hiding place and we seperated.

"I managed to find evidence to the traitor's identity, enough to realise he was one of the ruling people of our guild. I hurried to his hiding place but...well, the ruling people got there first."

Ulene gasped in horror, throwing her hands over her mouth in shock, much like Lenore had when she saw the ring. Indeed, a picture in Farwil's mind appeared of a group of people wearing the same black robes Lenore always wore standing around a body and Lenore standing still before them, staring with wide, tear-filled eyes,

"That was my reaction." Lenore nodded, "Still, I managed to hold it in when I was among them, at least. My husband was killed, branded a traitor, and I was welcomed among their ranks in his place. However, the leader of the ruling people had been killed and we had to seek guidance from a much higher person. On the journey, by means of trickery and subterfuge, I found out who the true traitor was but I did not act. I wanted him to unveil himself before the rest of them and show them that they were wrong.

"You know what they say. Pride comes before a fall. The traitor released that I knew, thought I would expose him and...went to drastic measures to ensure that I would not talk." Her hands clenched together briefly and a more ghastly image appeared before Farwil. One of Lenore lying broken and bleeding, just like when she had been overwhelmed by the daedra, and a dark figure standing over her with a dagger in hand, "In the process, he stole the ring and must have thrown it in the river. The pain of what physical harm had been inflicted on me was nothing compared to the loss of this treasure. I searched everywhere I could think of but could not find it."

She looked her most tense yet. Her hands were clenched into fists so tight that her knuckles were white, her head was bowed and her teeth were bared in a silent snarl. Then, she closed her eyes, composed herself and turned a neutral face upon them, "However painful it was to me, though, it made it all the worse for the traitor. If I was not resolved to strike him dead before then, I certainly was at that moment. It was the first time I have considered using both of my swords. When we reached the highest person in the guild, the traitor unveiled himself and I felled him with my two swords."

She cleared her throat and picked up her cutlery again, "And, there you have it. The story of my husband and how I avenged him. I have done far too much talking tonight and it would be unfair not to let any of you speak. Please, go on."

She did not speak at all throughout the rest of the banquet, which was passed mostly with small talk while everyone digested what they had heard. His father did not talk much, either, and Farwil could see sympathy in his eyes whenever he looked at Lenore. It took Farwil a few moments to realise that he had some idea how she felt. After all, his mother had died before her time as well.

The banquet ended and, while the guests filed out, his father invited Lenore for drinks in the drawing room. Her armour would not be fully fixed for another two hours so she consented. She did not speak during that time. Instead, she pulled out a book she had been concealing in her pocket. No, she was not reading it. She had just opened it to the first page, where a piece of parchment was positioned on it. Her hand whizzed over the page, which he noticed held a small piece of charcoal. Every now and again, she looked up at him and then back to her work.

She was soon finished and began another, setting the finished piece on the table beside her. On the pretence of lighting one of the candles, he glanced down at it. He almost dropped the candle. On the page was a young male Dunmer with long dark hair and a rather quizzical look on his face. It was him. Sure enough, as he glanced over her shoulder, he saw that she was halfway through a rendering of his father, who was laughing at a joke Bremman made and completely oblivious to the fact that he was having his portrait done.

She did not even seem to realise he was there, although he was right at her ear. He dared not say anything in case he startled her and made her ruin it. As quietly as he could (and he thanked the Nine that he was not wearing armoured boots), he crept back around her chair and sat back down in his, which was strategically opposite hers.

He watched her finish his father, then Ulene, then Bremman, then Naspia. She then turned to the room itself and took much longer on what he supposed was adding all the details of the lavish room. When she set that aside, she wondered out for a good long while and returned with another landscape. A surreptitious glance at the top of the growing pile told him that she had just sketched the deserted dining hall.

As she was working on another, Naspia looked up and saw her bent over her work, "Look at you, Lenore! Beavering away like that." Then, she caught a glimpse of the finished works, "Oh!" Without asking (and seemingly without being noticed since Lenore did not halt her charcoal), she picked up papers and began riffling through them, "These are brilliant, Lenore! How did you learn to do this?"

His father looked up at her cry and came over to see what was so brilliant. Soon, all the sketches were being circled around the room for all to admire. They were so very lifelike that it was astonishing, as though the moment had been frozen on the page. So lifelike that his father laughed, "You couldn't get rid of some of those wrinkles, could you?"

All too soon, Lenore's armour was fixed and she abruptly stood up to leave. She thanked his father and Ulene for their hospitality, said her farewells and hurried away to get changed as soon as she had collected all her drawings from varied places. All in a flash and all too quick for Farwil to realise that she was leaving. Without thinking it through, Farwil hurried out of the room too and waited by the door.

Lenore emerged as the Hero of Kvatch, her face and hair obscured by that now rather tatty-looking hood and her muscles on display through the straining chainmail. She stopped at the sight of him and, once again, he felt her eyes upon him, "Farwil-"

"Can I walk you to the gate?" He said, all in a rush, before he had time to piece together a better request. There was a painfully awkward silence in which Lenore stared at him. Then, it was releaved by her humourless smile,

"Alright. But, please, no further than the gate."

It was an agonizingly quiet walk there. Farwil wanted to say something to her but didn't know what. He was getting flustered again and he knew she could see it. One thing about the walk was that it was short. Too short. When she stopped at the gateway, she turned to him and said, "Farewell, Sir Knight." Just as she was about to disappear into the shadows, his voice worked on its own again,

"Wait!" She slowly turned, her head to one side. He swallowed, his face flushing. Half-formed thoughts went right from creation to his mouth without time to process them, "You'll be okay on your own, won't you...I mean...Oblivion gates are everywhere and...well, you..."

"I have dealt with a lot of these gates before this one." She reassured him, "It has become, as you may put it, a bit of a hobby of mine. I see a Gate and I dive headfirst into it, almost by second nature."

"Well, don't dive into too many, alright?" He said, knowing full-well that he was in no place to give her warnings. Again, words came out against his will, "Promise you won't get into trouble again, okay?"

The humourless smile extended and, before he knew it, she was in front of him. She laid her hands on his shoulders and he felt a light pressure on his left cheek like a butterfly had fluttered past his. Those cheeks flushed even more and he was rooted to the spot, half in shock. She leaned away and looked him right in the eyes. Under that close gaze, he felt as though two red stars were glaring at him in a purple sky with the slight tinge of an orange sunset in the form of her shadowed hair just peeping out from under her hood,

"I would love to say yes but I'm afraid that trouble is part of my life. It's what I love. You needn't worry about a lonely girl like me. I can handle these things myself. Just _you_ keep yourself safe and be a good little boy." Just as she was walking out of the pool of light at the gate, she held up a hand in farewell and he heard her voice saying, "Goodbye, Sir Farwil."

Farwil's legs would not move. He just stood like a tree in one spot for a long moment, before he reached up a hand and lightly touched the place where he had been kissed.

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A/N: OMG! A Farwil/Lenore scene! By the way, I think the hair-combing scene is one most of us can relate to. I certainly can. Ouch! I'm moving on from Farwil to do a bit of Arquen next chapter.


	14. Chapter 13: Alleno Hlaalu

A/N: Can this be real? Can I actually be updating just days after my last one? Am I dreaming? It's gotta be the holidays, alright, if I have this much spare time.

By the way, I've managed to do a picture of Lenore. Just a little profile one and I've put it up on DeviantArt. Here's the URL, you'll have to delete the spaces yourself: http :// leonette15 . deviantart . com / art / Lenore - 128766572

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **That was partially why I said it because Ulene's struggle with Lenore's wild hair is something most girls can relate to but the ring story works as well.

**maskedpainter: **I'll come back to Martin after one or two more Arquen chapters. Mind if I join you in the fangirl squeal?

**BloodandDiamonds: **Thanks very much!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 13: Alleno Hlaalu**

_BAM!_

The bang of the door snapped Arquen out of her bloodlusting ecstacy to look around. A cloaked figure stood in the doorway, their hood pulled up and a cloth tied across their nose and mouth. The others were looking around as well and a dead silence fell over the room. A silence dead as Lachance hanging behind them. The boy (Arquen presumed) stared speechlessly at the scene with wide, shadow-lined eyes.

At last, realising that no one else was going to come forward, she stepped towards him. The boy's arms dropped to his sides, enveloping his skinny body in the cloak, "You must be Lachance's Silencer." She smiled widely and insincerely, _Not another Dunmer! Banus was enough to cope with_, "At last, you have arrived! Fear not, for the crisis that has threatened the Dark Brotherhood has finally come to an end."

No answer. Just staring at the dead body hanging from the ceiling. Arquen became very annoyed at this; she hated being ignored so she cleared her throat to make him look round, "I am Arquen, Speaker for the Black Hand." She held out her hand as a way of greeting but the boy made no move. After a long pause, Arquen got the message and used it instead to gesture at the As you see, we have dealt with the betrayer, Lucien Lachance! No longer will you serve as his puppet." She added an inflection in her voice in enforce some of her own relief onto him. No such luck, however. All the boy seemed to do was stare like a stuffed owl,

_Must be in shock._ She reasoned, _Perhaps he had not been informed of his master being a traitor. I'd better explain, _"It seems Lachance wanted revenge against the Dark Brotherhood for some reason and used you to do his dirty work." As she said it, bitterness grew in her voice as she thought of the things she had to do to find Lachance, _I must have run all the way across Cyrodiil, torn every fort I can find upside down and all to find him hiding in some abandoned farmhouse around Anvil. All that time and effort!_

Arquen quickly snapped herself out of it, because the boy was showing no signs of coming out of his stupor, "But now, we can begin anew! I bestow upon you the title of Speaker. You will take Lucien Lachance's place on the Black Hand! Welcome!" She took Lachance's miraculously unharmed robes from the shelf and pushed it into his arms, "Now, we'll wait for you outside so you can get changed. We leave when you are ready."

With that, she beckoned the other three outside and left the boy alone, hoping that he would snap out of it once he was alone. Still, she gave the door a particularly hard slam to help him along with it. The place was called Gweden Farm, an abandoned place because no one would dare go near it. It had been rumoured to contain criminals and thieves. Of course, that made it all the more convenient for Lachance to hide...and for the Black Hand to kill him.

The three men immediately picked up their packs, ready to go. As Arquen was scooping up hers, Belisarius spoke up, "What do you think of that Silencer, eh? Looks a bit of a drip if you ask me."

"Ah, now, you mustn't judge by appearance, Belisarius." Banus wagged a finger, "I think he looks rather sweet."

"Sweet? What does that have to do with it?"

"You know, innocent. Like a little newborn lamb." Arquen rolled her eyes. Banus was an odd one, even by Dark Brotherhood standards. She was glad when his talk turned back to normal subjects, "Nice and light, too. Very good for sneaking about. I'm sure he's got a strong arm too. You heard the noise the door made."

At that moment, the door opened and the boy came out. His head was shadowed in his hood and the cloth was still on his face. He was still wearing his cloak as well, though the robe rendered it quite unnecessary. The robe itself was so overly big for him that was almost comical; the sleeves came right over his hands and the hem trailed about a foot behind him.

She ought to have seen it coming, she supposed. Those robes had once belonged to Lachance after all, who must have been about half a head taller than he. Making a mental note to get someone to resize them after visiting the Night Mother, Arquen closed the door which he had left hanging, stood on the doorstep and cleared her throat importantly, addressing the other Speakers at large,

"As you know, the Black Hand is now in a state of disarray. Lachance ordered our brother here to kill us off! We five, including you, are all that remain. Even worse, the Listener is killed! The Black Hand without a Listener is like a hand with no thumb. Even the Listener's successor is dead!" She brought herself under control before continuing, "So, we have no choice but to invoke an ancient ritual. We must wake the Night Mother from her slumber and seek her guidance! We will start upon our journey immediately. We will travel only when darkness shrouds the Empire. That is, between the hours of midnight and three am. Any other time, we take refuge in a ruin. I realise that this will take a long time to reach the Night Mother's resting place. A week, perhaps a bit less. Midnight is upon us. Let us begin."

She stepped off lightly and took the lead. She happily imagined herself as Listener addressing the whole of the Dark Brotherhood this way. Of course, they would be a better audience then the grumbling men behind her,

"_A whole week?_" hissed Belisarius in his very audible whisper, "_With her? And, on foot, too. By Sithis, I should of taken my horse._"

"It'll be okay, Belisarius!" Banus said, not even attempting to whisper, _How those two manage to sneak up on anything is astonishing! _She could see without having to look around that he was gesturing dramatically with his hands, "After all, we are to visit the Night Mother! Our Unholy Lady! The best once in a lifetime experience a man could ask for!"

"Alright, alright, you don't have to make a show about it! Tell the whole world, why don't you?" snapped Arquen. Banus flinched but shut up very quickly. He was silent for a very quick time as well. He was nattering away to Belisarius in an instant and Arquen's head began hurting again. She had already travelled with him while searching for Lachance. He had annoyed her so much that she was about ready to rip out his tongue and swallow it whole.

It seemed that, contrary to her previous opinion, not all Dunmer men were like that. Boy (as Arquen started calling him in her head) seemed to be the exact opposite of Banus. He stayed at the back of the group close to Mathieu, completely silent and still. So silent that Arquen caught herself looking back every few minutes to check he was still there.

Though he never made any noise, he proved himself to be ignorant of where he was going and clumsy. Boy tripped over roots, ran into things and fell over at least five times. Banus laughed each time, saying, "Silly little lamb! Just watch the shepherds and you don't get into trouble!" Mathieu stayed by him the whole time, helping him up when he fell, _He seems quite attached to Boy._ Both were silent the whole journey, though Mathieu seemed at least vaguely aware of his surroundings.

A couple of hours passed. The countryside which they trekked through sloped up but the road was still a long way. The path was narrow and forced them to go either alone or in pairs. That is, Arquen led the party alone, Belisarius and Banus were in the middle, Boy and Mathieu were at the back. The high slabs of an Ayleid ruin loomed up in the starry night and Arquen made a beeline towards it. That looked like a good place to spend the day, so long as there weren't too many monsters inside.

She, Mathieu and Boy stayed outside while Belisarius and Banus went inside to clear it out. Mathieu recognised it as Garlas Agea, being what Arquen called 'the resident Ayleid know-it-all'. He stood close to Boy, who just stood still as a statue, staring straight ahead of him. Mathieu was silent too and Arquen found herself wishing for the noise of Banus again. It was better than this awkward silence.

Now came the low after the high of killing Lachance. She wanted desperately to do something with her hands and found herself walking in circles around the same stone. Finally, completely restless, she resorted to flopping on the ground, shredding leaves. A few minutes later, the door opened and a bloodstained pair emerged, flushed and victorious, _Next time, _she told herself, _I'm going in to be the one to get rid of the monsters._

Hauling herself up, she followed them in. Banus was going on animatedly about how he had caught one of the necromancers in the place offguard and cut off his ponytail before killing him. His voice grated on Arquen, making her regret her wish for his voice. The bedrolls were rolled out and Arquen insisted on a seperate room for herself, _Who wants to sleep in the same room with those stupid men?_ She would have thought that her experience as a prostitute would have desensitised her to the presence of men but she was still prudish enough to make Belisarius' eyes roll.

Then, Banus cast a magelight on a part of the floor, dragged some planks around it and beckoned everyone to sit around it as though it were a campfire. Arquen, to her dismay, ended up between Banus and Belisarius, while Boy and Mathieu were opposite. Mathieu's face glimmered oddly in the green light, making it seem to glow pale like Secunda when it was full. The light glinted off his dark eyes, giving them some much-desired colour. Boy's eyes were shadowed by the hood and, combined with the cloth, hardly any of his face was visible.

Then, at last, the conversation turned to something excellent: the murder of Lachance. Arquen, Banus and Belisarius threw themselves into this topic with vigour, admiring each other's mastery in carving out bits of flesh and having petty arguments about who stabbed where. What they all agreed on was that it was one of the most enjoyable things they had done recently. Belisarius, who had been tied up in administrative duties for months, declared the murder 'pure ecstacy'. Arquen stated with glee the number of giveaways that should have alerted them to his treachery before. The fact that he shirked his duties for two months in a row, for example. Something Arquen and any loyal member would never do. Banus actually stood up and began miming the best parts with gusto.

It was during this that he snapped out of it and said, "Oh! Mathieu, where's our new brother?"

Arquen looked round and, sure enough, Boy had vanished. Belisarius gave a little start at this realisation and leapt up, "Who saw him last?"  
"He went outside." Mathieu's voice was quieter than the other mens' and the typical Breton tone, "I thought he looked a little ill so I let him go outside for some fresh air. Maybe he went for a walk."

"You're always so kind, Mathieu!" Banus crowed, "I happened to notice on our journey that you seem to be quite fond of him." _I think we all noticed that._ Arquen thought, "Why don't you go and find him?"

"And tell him not to wonder off again." added Arquen, "We don't want anyone following us."

Mathieu obediantly stood and hurried off to the door. Banus gave a glowing grin to no one in particular, "I knew it! He does like our new brother! How lovely!"

"Yeah," Belisarius nodded, "he's quiet. The boy's quiet. They make the perfect pair. By the way," He added, a little twitch in his face telling Arquen that it was something he was nervous about, "did you hear something on our way here?"

"Yes." Arquen nodded, a little annoyed, "the town of Anvil for a start."

"No, no, I mean," He dropped his voice to a conspiritorial whisper, "I heard the sound of a horse all the way here. Quite a bit away."

"Must have been a farmer riding home late." Arquen shrugged, not in the mood to indulge in Belisarius' superstitious fretting,

"I don't think so." He shook his head fervantly, "It was keeping close to us and following us."

"Well, why don't you go out and check if you're so convinced?" snapped Arquen, "Go on!"

"Mathieu will see it if it is following us." Banus insisted, demonstrating a rare example of his clear thinking, "Don't be frightened, Belisarius. There's nothing to be worried about."

Minutes passed. After an hour, when they were debating whether or not to go out and look for them, the pair returned, "There you are!" Banus cried, acting as though they had just survived a dreadful battle, "Where on earth were you? We were worried sick!"

"Alleno just wondered off." Mathieu explained, "He got a bit lost in the dark."

"Well, it's lucky I sent Mathieu then." snapped Arquen in Boy's general direction, "Next time, please be more careful. We can't afford to lose any more Speakers."

"Wait a moment." Belisarius stood, "Alleno?"

"That's his name." Mathieu said, simply, "Alleno Hlaalu. I'm afraid that he can't talk and I only know because he wrote it down."

"A mute, eh?" The Imperial put his head to one side, clearly thinking less and less of this boy.

Then, Banus gave a little gasp, as though he had sat on something sharp, "Oh! How stupid of us!" In two steps, he was in front of the boy, "We haven't introduced ourselves!" And, he was off, in his social, chattering mode, "You know Arquen and Mathieu. I'm Banus Alor, Speaker for two years. Very pleased to meet you!" Unlike Arquen, he grabbed his hand and shook it fervantly. The boy's hand flopped limply in Banus' grasp but Banus didn't care. With his big grin on his face, he beckoned to Belisarius to do the same, who merely nodded curtly,

"Belisarius Arius. Joined the Black Hand at the same time as Banus."

Alleno had managed to lose the cloth from his face so she now saw that his lips were dark and there was a good deal of shadow around his chin like Banus. From that point on, Banus would not shut up. He constantly initiated Alleno in conversation, despite being limited to yes or no questions. What astonished Arquen was that Alleno was actually answering, with nods or shakes of the head, being a lot more responsive than usual. A lot more but there were some questions he still would not answer. Arquen felt a little sour at Mathieu being able to get through to him by some most-likely inane topic when she couldn't get an answer out of him when she was talking about something important.

After a hasty breakfast (Alleno ate barely anything), Arquen marched off to her bedroll, insisting that the others do the same shortly. Ignoring the mocking of Belisarius, she shut herself in the small chamber, wondering what on earth she was so annoyed about. Was it because of Alleno not paying attention to her? Was it Belisarius' lack of respect? Was is Banus' constant talking? Was it because she had been looking for Lachance for so long? Or was it a combination of all four?

Arquen was a light sleeper and couldn't get to sleep with the men chattering in the next room. She lay with her eyes closed, trying to block out the noise and repress the urge to bite their tongues off. In the end, the noise finally died down and she finally got some sleep.

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The next night passed very much the same, just trekking through the wilderness. It was decided that they should avoid the roads as much as possible and, to do this, they would have to go around Kvatch and then south of Skingrad. Using Belisarius' map, they had agreed on this route. The wild beasts were easily negotiable and no pesky Legion soldiers were about.

The night didn't pass in exactly the same way, though. Alleno was more aware of his surroundings this time around and did not bump into anything, which was astonishing considering that his robes were still overly large. Matheiu stayed by his side, talking in a low voice to him, which he was always answer with a nod. But, it was his stare that was different. Though his eyes were invisible, Arquen had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched.

It was Belisarius' turn to keep glancing around at Alleno, "_He gives me the creeps_." He admitted to Banus, "_What's he staring at us for?_"

"_Maybe he thinks you look funny_." Banus snickered. Then, Belisarius stopped dead and hissed,

"Shh! There it is again!"

Arquen strained her ears but could not hear anything. Banus carefully lowered himself to the ground like a lion trying to scent its prey, balancing himself on one splayed hand, "_Yes._" He whispered, "_I can feel something. Sounds like something heavy. Could be a horse. Definitely more than two legs. Oh, what fun this is!_"

Arquen could hear nothing but a faint tapping noise coming from somewhere. Like metal on stone. Looking around, she saw nothing but Belisarius glancing around and Banus feeling around for any more movement. Mathieu and Alleno were out of sight at the back. The taps were repetitive, rhythmic and varying. Some taps were short, following each other in quick succession, and others had gaps in between,

"Ah!" Banus gasped, "It's fading. It's getting away! Running! Oh, it's so fast!"

"Banus, Belisarius, after it!" Arquen snapped, starting to believe that this was not a joke. Just as they left, the tapping stopped. She bit back a snarl, _What the hell was it? It's not something you find in nature._ It reminded her of one of her Sisters tapping her dagger on stone, saying that it was a code. Arquen had never believed it. How could one interpret a load of senseless tapping, even if it did have a bit of rhythm?

The men came back empty-handed, saying that they had seen nothing and the animal was now out of range, "Must have been a wild one." suggested Mathieu from the gloom, "They're quite common in the grasslands."

"Or one that ran off from the Kvatch stables." Banus shrugged,

"Either way, let's get going." Arquen was getting fed up of this wild goose-chase and the night was marching on. Grass swished around them in the wind and the lights of Kvatch atop the plateau began to fade. As did the sound of cheering from the arena. Trumbe loomed in the distance. Picking up the pace, they reached it in no time. Arquen insisted she went in and Belisarius accompanied her. Mathieu did not seem to want to be parted from Alleno and Banus was quick to pick up on this,

"Like true brothers! How lovely!"

Arquen rolled her eyes. If he did any more simpering, he would need a lace fan. The place was cold and full of zombies. Arquen really began to miss her warm bed in her Sanctuary as she cut down the undead and dreaded the thought of having to sleep here. Belisarius threw himself into the fighting with a bit more vigour than usual. She supposed that it was because he was still on the high from killing Lachance and needed to vent that energy somewhere.

The place was cleared and, wiping sweat and grime from herself, Arquen went out to give the all-clear while Belisarius set up camp. A light was appearing on the horizon as she beckoned the other three inside. Alleno seemed to take an interest in the ruin now, running his hands over the stone and examining the patterns in the doors, _Another Ayleid know-it-all, just like Mathieu._ Arquen thought, dully. No wonder they got on so well.

Another theory as to why she was so annoyed drifted into her head. She was the only female among them and she had no interest in boys at all. She blamed her years in the prostitution industry. Still, she had been wishing that Lachance's Silencer would be a girl so she had someone to talk to. Not that it would have made any difference if Alleno had been a girl. She preferred people who talked back when she started a conversation with them and not with gestures.

Speaking of Alleno, he seemed to want to say something to Mathieu. He tapped his shoulder until he turned around and proceeded to mouth something wordlessly. Arquen thought something must have happened to turn him mute because someone who was mute from birth would certainly not know how to mouth words. Apparently, Mathieu was a good lip-reader because he turned to the others and said,

"He wants to explore the ruin a little. Is that alright?"

"Absolutely!" Banus crowed, before Arquen or Belisarius could open their mouths, "I can see you're an Ayleid lover. Just like our dear friend Mathieu. Oh, you two have so much in common!" He actually clapped his hands a few times in excitement, making everyone doubt his sanity anew,

"Don't go far." Arquen added, after a pause, "And, don't get lost this time."

"Hey! Boy!" Belisarius threw something long over the light, which Alleno only just managed to catch with his swamped hands. It was his iron longsword, "There might be a few more of them and you need a weapon."

Alleno gave a small nod of what might have been thanks and hurried off into the gloom. Across the light, Mathieu looked as though he wanted to follow him but Belisarius stopped him, "Let the kid alone. You're his Brother but don't act like his father." Most reluctantly, the Breton sat down. Soon, they were chatting unconcernedly (or, Banus and Belisarius were chatting while Arquen and Mathieu sat in awkward silence) and all but forgot about Alleno.

The boy was a rather easy person to lose, Arquen thought. He was as quiet as a mouse and could slip away just as easily as one. She supposed that was what made him such a skilled assassin. She had heard from rumours that he had only been in the Brotherhood for less than five years. By her logic, she had decided on five because anything less was just unreal. There was no way that high-profile contracts could come in any quicker. Of course, that was considering that all Lachance's boasting about his 'new prodigy' were true. And, considering what he had been saying beforehand, it was not entirely believeable.

Alleno returned after about half an hour with an armful of Welkynd Stones, which Mathieu immediately set about examining. Banus had that stupid grin on his face again as he watched them, "Oh, isn't it wonderful to see how they're getting along so well!" He sang, as Mathieu demonstrated to the rapt boy how the stone could be used to influence one's magicka levels, "They're such good friends! Almost as good as Belisarius and I!"

Why Belisarius would ever think of befriending him was completely beyond Arquen. Banus went on, "It would be so good for him, the sweet little lamb."

"If you think he's so sweet, why don't you go and make friends with him?" She snapped at him,

"Oh, but, dear Sister," He spoke in a very condescending tone that grated her ten times more than usual, "isn't it lovely to see such a relationship between brothers? To interrupt it now would be a crime!"

She'd had enough. Stuffing an apple in her mouth, she went off sourly to her bedroll in a worse mood than the previous night.

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The next night was much the same. Mathieu and Alleno together, Belisarius constantly looking over his shoulder for the ghost horse while insisting that he could still hear it, Banus being an idiot and Arquen getting an increasing headache from all of them, _Think of the Night Mother._ She told herself, after wishing she could throw Banus down a lion's throat, _Think of seeing our Unholy Matron in a few days. The one who rules us all and who only the Listener has spoken to before._

She tried to amuse herself with fantasies about the Night Mother. What she would look like, what her resting place would look like and what wise words she had for them. Of course, it was very likely that she would be appointed Listener. Though she had only been a Speaker for a few weeks, she was in a good position for it with over twenty years of experience in the Brotherhood behind her and definitely the most sense among them.

Listing the reasons why she would be a good Listener soon became a fun task and she indulged in reeling off why the others were so unsuited. Belisarius was too jumpy and chased after shadows rather than actual threats. Banus was...well, Banus. Bellamont was ambitious, yes, but lacked leadership skills. And, of course, Alleno was far too young in her eyes.

The next ruin was Talwinque, which thankfully had a bit more room and a more seperate chamber for her. Arquen could still happily think up of what she would do when she became Listener so she could tune out to what they were saying. Alleno went off to explore again and the four of them were left alone again. Just as she was considering who to put in charge of the Cheydinal Sanctuary, Banus gave a sharp little cry like he had when Alleno had been brought back from the wilderness,

"I say, look at that!"

Arquen jerked her head to where he was pointing. Something dark and round was lying on the floor a little way off. Belisarius stood up and picked it up. When it was brought to the magelight, she had to bite back a gasp of disgust. A badly decayed head with wisps of black hair atop its greenish scalp hung in his hands. The eyes were wide open, as was the mouth.

The boys were soon laughing at it, playing with the mouth like it was a puppet. Arquen reasoned it must have come from a zombie within the ruin and thought nothing more of it. She turned her back on the boys and renewed the magelight, which was beginning to grow dim. Mathieu suddenly stood up as the two decided to have a competition of who could throw it the furthest, "Ah, there's no need for that." He stuttered, "It could be diseased. Let's just get rid of it."

Arquen stared. Now that the light was brighter, she could see the Breton had changed. He suddenly looked nervous, almost jittery. He had the air of someone trying to repress their emotions with all their might. Though she could not for the life of her imagine why. Nevertheless, he seized the head and hurried out of the door. Belisarius raised his eyebrows,

"What's up with him?"

Banus shrugged carelessly, wiping the grime from his hands on his robe. Matheiu returned after a few minutes, as did Alleno. Strangely, both looked rather shaken and neither were talking (or responding), not even to each other. Even the men noticed after a while,

"Had a fall-out, you two?"

Neither answered, they simply looked awkward. Banus then skipped (yes, skipped) over with something in his hand. It was a raggy old book, dog-eared, stained and with a long tear down the front cover. However, Banus was adament that it was interesting, "It's a copy of 'The Brothers of Darkness'."

"Isn't that the one with that scarce information on us?" Arquen sneered,

"Yes, but that's not what interesting. Look!" He showed them the pages. It took Arquen a few seconds to realise what it was. The pages were as clean as new and the writing was different from the standard book text hand, a spiky, spidery scrawl, "Someone must have taken out the pages and written in new ones. What's more, it's about a family of murders just like us who adopted a new daughter."

Belisarius took the book from him and began skimming through it. A look of distaste appeared on his face, "It's just some stupid romance book. The girl in this can't even make up her mind. Listen to this: _'The girl knew not whether to love the charming century-year-old vampire or the handsome assassin who had offered her a new life. She chose the charming vampire with regret which came too late._' Stupid girl. Should pay more attention to her work."

Though he said he did not like it, he still picked it up and turned the pages, half-reading until he found something near the middle, "Oh, this is interesting: '_The girl stared upon the scene. She alone had killed her whole family in their sleep to save her own life. She could not believe her selfishness and wept openly.'_ Hmph, sounds pretty sensible to me. Don't know what the fuss is about. And, why the hell aren't there any names here? It's too confusing!"

"Well, don't read it, then." snarled Arquen, "Here, let me see that." She didn't expect much and didn't get much. It did tell of murders but not in the glorified ecstacy she knew. No, in a guilty, regretful way that sounded like an uptight, simpering chapel-goer. Then, she came across something, "Listen to this. _While the handsome assassin and the girl ran away, they were watched by an evil traitor. He had orchastrated the murder of the girl's cousins she never knew and pulled the strings of the heads of the families to make the girl kill her brothers and sisters._' Sounds a bit like Lachance."

Though the tone and feel of the story was disagreeble to Arquen, she found it had a certain pull to make her keep turning the pages. Reading aloud was a habit of hers and she kept at it now, "_'The traitor was twisted and insane, thinking severed heads could talk and women he never met loved him. He talked to heads in his house and soon desired the girl. He followed in her shadow with wicked desire and his heart burned with jealousy as he saw her with the handsome assassin.'_"

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mathieu give an nervous little twitch as though he was sitting on something uncomfortable but she read on, now a little more intrigued, "_He talked to one of his heads and came up with a plan. With his influence, he implicated the handsome assassin of terrible crimes against the family and used the naive girl to do it. Whenever the handsome assassin gave her an order to kill, the traitor would cunningly replace it with an order to kill a cousin she did not know she had.'_"

"Oh, poor thing!" gasped Banus, now riveted like a child at storytime. Mathieu was actually loosening his collar as though warm, though the air was very cold in the ruin,

"'_The traitor's plan worked. The foolish heads of the family thought the handsome assassin the traitor and hunted him down as one. When the handsome assassin and the girl parted for the last time, the girl went on a frantic search for the traitor. He found his hiding place but no one there. Taking evidence, she hurried to the handsome assassin's hiding place, only to find that the foolish heads had got there first and killed the innocent man.'_"

"Is there an author to this work?" Mathieu's voice was one of forced calm. Sweat was building on his forehead and his hands might have been shaking, it was impossible to tell in that amount of light. Making a mental note to ask him later, Arquen marked her page with her thumb and flicked back to the title page,

"It only says '_L.L' _here. Ah, but the title is '_The Assassin's Ploy'_. Good title, I suppose." She turned back to the page, "_'The foolish heads made her one in place of the handsome assassin and they went on a journey to ask their mother for her guidance.'_"

"Just like us!" Banus sang, "Oh, this is incredible! Go on, go on! What happens next?"

Rolling her eyes, Arquen continued, "_'On the journey, the girl discovered who the true traitor was by clever traps and using the evidence she found but held her tongue. She had plans for him and the foolish heads. They reached their mother and the traitor attacked her. The girl killed him by slicing off his head and cutting his body into a thousand pieces but her work was not yet done. There were three more foolish heads that had allowed the traitor to go so far: an Altmer, an Imperial and a Dunmer.'_" Even Arquen found the similarity between the story and reality rather unnerving. Banus was quick to point this out and Belisarius was looking rather nervous.

Mathieu looked worse. What little colour from his face had gone and he looked as though he might faint. Still, there were some lines to go, "_'Once all were asleep, the girl crept from her bed to where the Altmer lay sleeping. There, she cut out the Altmer's tongue, carved out their innards and fed them to the dogs.'_" She had to stop for a moment, as she felt quite ill, "_'In the Dunmer's chamber, she poured poison into the Dunmer's eyes to burn them to a cinder and strangled him with a hangman's noose.'_" Banus clutched his throat, looking quite petrified, "_'Lastly, she locked the Imperial within his room and set the place ablaze, letting him burn to ashes in his bed.'_" Belisairus shifted nervously, white as Mathieu.

Even Arquen had to gulp before reading the last lines, "_'As the house burned around her, the girl did not hear the dying screams of the Imperial, nor of their mother. She took up a sword and joined her handsome assassin in death.'_" She closed the book, though still with a feeling a dread and nerves that she could not place. Of course, it was only a story and she was only being silly but those similiarities in what the foolish heads thought and what the Black Hand thinks now...

There was a small moan and Mathieu fell sideways onto his side. Banus immediately leapt up, trying to coax him back to his senses with frenzied fretting, which Mathieu waved off a few seconds later with a mumbled, "Sorry, sorry. Just...felt a bit dizzy..."

Alleno, which Arquen noticed had not moved from beside Mathieu, was looking impassively at the Breton, completely unaffected by the story. Just sitting there, like a statue, staring.

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A/N: I tried to keep the Black Hand gloating about Lucien's death to a bare minimum but I don't think I quite managed it. Any guesses about Alleno?


	15. Chapter 14: Silorn

A/N: Woohoo! Good load of reviews this time around! Thanks so much, guys!

**maskedpainter: **I got the book idea from Hamlet. Like the play-within-a-play scene but with books and with a similiar purpose!

**i'macrazypsychopath:** I'm glad you think that.

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **Horrifying in a good way or a bad way?

**Legend among cows: **Yeah, it must have been.

**BloodandDiamonds: **You'll see!

**Miss Lieress: **Thanks very much! I'm pretty proud of that picture, expecially the hair.

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 14: Silorn**

Arquen couldn't get to sleep that night. Though all other details managed to slip her mind easily enough, the ending of that simple, handwritten story had burned itself into her brain. She started awake twice with the sounds of baying hounds in her ears and the sight of her stomach gaping open,

_This is ridiculous._ She told herself, sitting up on her bedroll with her eyes itching after the second nightmare, _It was only a story, written by this L.L character who probably has no connection at all to the Dark Brotherhood. By Sithis, I shouldn't be as faint-hearted as to sit awake all day because of a scary story like a spoiled child!_

Still, she lit a candle and had a peek around the doorway where the men were sleeping. Or, they were meant to be. A dim magelight had been lit and two figures were huddled around it. Arquen crept over and saw they were Belisarius and Banus, "_Can't sleep either, eh?_" whispered Belisarius, a little too loudly for Arquen's taste. The man simply could not whisper properly. All he could do was a sort of stage whisper where the tone was like whispering but the volume was the same as his ordinary voice.

Arquen shook her head, glancing at the bedrolls which contained Mathieu and Alleno. Both seemed to be sleeping quite soundly, with their backs to the magelight, untroubled by nightmares about their gory predicted deaths. Banus glanced at them too then leaned in so the magelight below his chin was casting odd shadows on his cheekbones. He spoke in a serious tone that she had never heard before,

"_I'm not saying anything about what was in that book was true but...well...the dead drop orders are put in deserted places, aren't they? So no one outside the Brotherhood could find them? But...what about people inside the Brotherhood?_"

Ice water cascaded into Arquen's stomach. Yes, what Banus was suggesting did sound plausible. She had heard that they even suggested good places for dead drop orders at Black Hand meetings so anyone within the Brotherhood would know where to find them. Banus nodded at her expression and continued in the same conspiritorial tone, "_And, we Speakers leave the dead drops for about two or three days before the Silencers pick them up. So, how easy would it be for someone to tamper with them?_"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Belisarius picked up the book again, though only holding on by his fingertips as though it was a poisonous insect, and opened it to the title page. The three considered reading it again for any minor details they might have missed but decided against it in the end. If they were not reminded of the frightening part, surely the terror would go away more quickly. It couldn't last.

Belisarius then stiffened in horror and stared at the front page. His mouth was forming the letters on the page. Banus leaned in and gazed down, as though expecting something different to have appeared. After a moment, Belisarius turned to all of them, white in the face and breathless in the voice, "There is someone we know who has the initials L.L. On the Black Hand. You know who I mean."

Banus clasped his hands to his mouth, back in his simpering persona, "Surely not! But, he is dead!"

"If you mean Lachance," Arquen said, smartly. She was now beginning to pull herself together and was starting to kick herself for being so stupid, _I'm getting worse than Belisarius, _"then you're being stupid. That _isn't _his handwriting. Besides," She added, on an inspiration now her logic was coming back to her, "whoever says any of this has to be real? Even if it was written by Lachance, I could just be some trick to make us think stupid things that aren't true. Anyway, if it was written by him, why would he write it from a girl's perspective and what would it be doing here?"

Belisarius was clearly not convinced. When he next spoke, his eyes were twitching back and forth as though thinking something was about to leap out of the shadows any minute, "What if...what if...Lachance is here right now...as a ghost...come back...to warn us..."

"Yes, yes!" gasped Banus, being sucked into the superstitious nonsense Belisarius spouted, "And, that horse we've been hearing could be him as well. You remember Shadowmere, his hell-beast of a creature. He could be using her and following us! Oh, how terrifying! He could be outside right now!"

_Oh, here we go!_ Arquen groaned, "He is in the Void now, you two, in case you have forgotten. If he was a ghost, he would certainly not have the time or capacity to ride his old horse, write a whole book and get in here without us noticing. Now," She stood up so she towered over them, "we've spent enough time talking about nonsense and we need to get some sleep."

"But...what about..."

"I'll take it!" Arquen snatched the ragged book from Belisarius' hands, now furious with the thing that it had made her so weak, even for just a few hours, and that it still had an affect on the others, "I'll burn it the next chance I get." She felt a savage pleasure in being in control of the thing that once held such an influence over her as she marched to her room. Stuffing it carelessly into her bag, she lay down to get some sleep.

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When she got up, she found the men already prepared to leave. Banus and Belisarius were both itching their eyes, meaning they probably hadn't got much sleep at all. Mathieu and Alleno were actually standing apart from one another, not even meeting each other's eyes. Arquen didn't know what disagreement they had reached but she sincerely hoped that it wouldn't escalate. The last thing she needed was her Speakers to start fighting amongst themselves.

Since they were so quick to get ready, they got out earlier than Arquen had planned. Still, that was alright; that meant that they could go further and hopefully be with the Night Mother in two or three days. As they walked, Alleno came up beside her, leaving Mathieu tailing behind. He did not speak throughout the time they walked in the dark and he made her rather uncomfortable.

Belisarius and Banus were very jumpy, probably still indulging in old wives' tales of vengeful ghosts coming back from beyond the grave and convincing themselves that they could hear the spectral hoofbeats of Lachance nearby. Arquen scowled at their starts. Men could be so stupid, sometimes. She had never heard a single hoofprint throughout their journey and she was beginning to think that it was just Belisarius making things up. The man was so superstitious that he probably kept a boar's hoof in his pocket or whatever it was that brought you good luck.

The hills of County Kvatch soon gave way to flat plains and the lights of Skingrad glowed in the distance. Arquen made sure to lead them well away. She changed their direction to a southerly direction, cutting across the road and searching for the path. She had a good idea of where they should take residence next. Silorn was a large Ayleid ruin, well out of sight from Skingrad and very roomy inside. The only downside was that it was favoured place of Necromancers but they were easily dealt with.

She had hidden in that place before and its catacombs provided ample hiding places. Besides, the supplies were running low and they could easily get to Skingrad to restock. Or, she would. She did not want the men accompanying them as she was heartily sick of them by now.

At last, she found the track and began to follow it. The night was waning and dawn would soon break. It must be past three am already but she pushed on anyway. She picked up the pace a bit, taking care not to skid on the loose stones. She was sure Alleno would slip on his overlarge robes even if he hadn't been recently. However, he kept pace with her, handling the climb down as well as a mountain goat. This astonished her as to how he could have been so clumsy before and so graceful now.

The sound of rippling water greeted them as they reached level ground and the gateways of Silorn were silhuoetted against the lightening sky. The wooden bridge rattled beneath her feet more loudly than she would have liked and the men were even worse. When they reached the ruin, Mathieu and Banus went inside to clear it while the others loitered around the place.

Alleno examined the statue before the door, Belisarius leaned against one of the pillars while Arquen played with her dagger. It took a lot longer for the ruin to be cleared, probably because it was so large and the sun was already peeping over the horizon by the time the pair appeared again to give the all-clear. So, all went into a wide chamber full of thin pillars close to the entrance. Arquen would have liked to go further in but Banus was insistant, "It's the best here!" He said, "And, there's a nice little room for you just over there."

Arquen deposited her packs in the rather pokey chamber and pulled out the purse of gold she had been carrying with her. Inside, there was more than enough to get supplies for everyone (even more since Alleno never seemed to eat anything). After a bit of searching, she found a blue velvet dress and a chestnut-coloured horse-hair wig. This should be sufficient to go into Skingrad town in without attracting too much attention. She knew she could easily dress as a commoner but she preferred to look as though she was well-off.

When she got out, just out of habit, she tried to go without anyone noticing. Not that she expected the men to notice. Banus and Belisarius were too busy looking a drawing of a nude woman they had found in Fort Farragut that Banus had unofficially claimed ownership of. Arquen looked away disgusted. She knew that Lachance did have some talent but only for drawing indecent things like that.

"Going somewhere, Arquen?" Belisarius asked, looking up and catching her just as her foot had crossed the doorway out of the chamber,

"We need to restock." She said, shortly, "I'm going to Skingrad."

"Oh, I'll come with you!" Banus chimed, making Arquen's heart sink, "I'd love to see Skingrad again."

"I think I should as well." Belisarius stood up. She had to bite down a groan when he lowered his voice, "You can't go out alone with...you know. The ghost out there."

"For the _last time,_" Arquen snarled, through gritted teeth, "there is _no_ ghost!"

But, both men wouldn't take no for an answer and were soon pulling out ordinary clothes. Mathieu and Alleno stayed silent, although Alleno looked away very quickly when the men started to get changed. Bracing herself for a morning of their nonsense, Arquen led the pair out of the ruin, leaving the other two alone by the magelight. Once they were out in the bright sunlight (which stung her eyes a little after the gloom of the ruins), Belisarius glanced back and forward as though expecting the 'ghost' to leap out at them at any minute. When they were climbing up the steep (now even steeper when they were climbing up), Banus added out of nowhere,

"Besides, I think leaving those two alone would be an excellent chance for them to patch up their friendship, don't you think?"

She felt like rolling her eyes, _I try to get a bit of peace and quiet and what do I get? Those idiots following me!_

She had to admit, Skingrad was a pleasant town. Quiet and not many people around, which suited her perfectly. She cared nothing for the fancy flowers on the balconies or the clean streets. No, what she liked was the abundance of places to hide and the lack of people around the place. Not to mention the castle that she was just itching to break into one of these days.

Unfortunately, the morning market was in full swing and there was a small crowd in the streets. The market had about a dozen stalls all under a sort of marquee to protect it from any unexpected rain. Arquen shoved her way to the food stalls, in a bad mood again, and got what she needed more quickly than she would have liked. Banus didn't make things any better by deliberately delaying in his decisions, _Probably thinking that he's giving Alleno and Mathieu more time to make up._ Though his intentions were good, it didn't stop Arquen getting annoyed.

Then, came the crowning irritation. Near the end was a mystic's stall full of amulets and talismans. Belisarius was drawn to it like an addict to skooma. Soon, he was having an animated conversation about their ghost, which Banus soon joined in. The seller, a High Elf with overly-wide eyes and wrapped in shawls, was in her element with them. She was soon pulling out jewels, foul-looking vegetables and oddly-shaped stones, saying how each could ward away a ghost or make it disappear.

Arquen huffed and groaned all the way through the explanation. How anyone could believe that some innocuous piece of rock could drive away 'evil spirits' was completely ridiculous. Saying she was going back to Silorn, she began to march out of the marquee. Then, with a great angry crash of thunder, the heavens opened everyone who was not under the marquee were soaked in seconds by raindrops bigger than her thumbnail.

_Well, that is just absolutely brilliant!_ thought Arquen, bitterly, _Now I have to stay here, listening to this drivel._ Belisarius and the lunatic were getting along like a house on fire and soon the conversation turned to Mathieu and Alleno's friendship troubles. Arquen glared upwards at the soaking cloth above them as the seller began recommending pendants to fix a fall-out.

The rain went on and on and the market was becoming more and more crowded with people sheltering from the downpour. She couldn't take any more of the lunatic, who was starting to tell their fortunes now, and she determinedly looked away, scowling so darkly that a nearby Bosmer squeaked and fled from her. Arquen never believed in fortunes that could be told in advance. The only one who controlled the future on a small scale was the Night Mother and her voice was the only one Arquen would trust.

The rain was showing no signs of letting up and the sky was darkening, making Arquen even more annoyed, _If I'm stuck here all day..._

"Ah!" The lunatic Altmer made her jump suddenly and look around. She was right in front of her, glaring right at her under the shawls and talking in a very certain voice, "You are certain of yourself now but your reasoning is incorrect. A friend will leave you but they will come back. Trust a fire-haired woman."

With this, Banus suggested that they brave the weather and return to Silorn, "Mathieu and Alleno must be worried sick about us!"

The lunatic bade them farewell cheerfully and they ran into the rain. They were soaked to the skin before they had even got out of the city. Wishing she had her cloak, she threw her hands over her head (to try and keep her sodden wig on as well as a desperate attempt to keep it dry) and ran for the slope. The slope was hopelessly precarious, the earth turning to mud beneath their feet, and they were slipping and sliding down the track so much that they were in danger of losing the supplies they had just bought.

Finally, their clothes now ruined with mud, they made it to Silorn. Arquen was now wishing they had not come to a ruin that was on the end of such a treacherous trail. She should have seen it coming but, then again, she had only come here when it was dry. Once inside, they had to stop to catch their breath and assess the damage done. The elegant dress Arquen had worn coming out of the ruin was now unrecognisable, dark with rainwater and stained with mud,

"And it was such a nice day when we came out, too!" Banus lamented, as he began taking something out of one of the packs. He and Belisarius were soon at work hanging charms outside the door which would supposedly keep the ghost out. Snarling under her breath, Arquen strode down the steps and hoped that no one would see her looking such a mess.

She wasn't in luck. Mathieu was sitting beside the magelight, looking right at her as she entered. Tugging off her sodden wig unceremoniously, she marched off to her chamber to get changed. She silently thanked Sithis that she'd had the sense to bring a towel for just such this situation. This towel was rubbed mercilessly against her skin, to rid it of every drop of rain, which took a lot longer than she thought. The rain seemed to have found its way everywhere and only her hair was relatively dry. The dress lay forgotten in a heap with the wig, _Confound it! A perfectly good disguise ruined!_

Once she had pulled on her thankfully dry robe, she strode back to the magelight where, to her savage pleasure, the men were having more trouble than her. Belisarius was wringing out his shirt into a bowl and Banus was fussing over mudstains in his trousers, "Oh, I'll _never_ get these out!" Arquen rolled her eyes in frustration, "By Sithis, what a terrible storm!" He gasped, as they heard the faint rumble of thunder above, "Just listen to it!"

It wasn't the sound Arquen was worrying about. It was the fact that the place was ancient and probably had a few holes in the roof. The last thing she wanted was the place to start leaking. To take her mind off it, she turned to Mathieu,

"Where's Alleno?"

"In bed." He jerked his head to the row of bedrolls and, sure enough, one of them was full, "He wanted an early night and said he wasn't hungry."

"Oh, have you two made up?" Banus asked, distracted from his bothersome stains and the weather,

"Well, in a way, yes." Mathieu said, offhandly, which did not match the response it garnered. Banus clapped his hands ecstactically, with the stupid grin back on his face,

"Oh, how wonderful! I knew those charms would work!"

Arquen rolled her eyes again and, following Alleno's example, called it an early night. Being soaked did not put her in the mood to humour brainless men. She did not get to sleep very quickly since the men were still chattering away in the next room. To make matters worse, when they did get to sleep (some two hours later), Banus began snoring. Or Belisarius. It had to be one of the two. So, she lay in her bedroll, scrunching the material in her fist with irritation.

At last, she could take no more of the noise and she sat up, with all intentions of making the guilty person sleep outside in the still hammering rain. It was Banus but that wasn't what caught her eye. A dark figure was kneeling beside Mathieu. After realising that a bedroll was empty, she guessed that it was Alleno. Crouching in a sneak position, she watched him position himself above the sleeping Breton's head.

Then, came a sound that made her doubly aware. The sound of a blade being unsheathed. She ducked behind a pillar as Alleno raised his arm, which clutched a small elven blade. There was a glimmer in the dark and she saw Belisarius ease himself out of his bedroll, staring at the scene. Like Arquen, he was a light sleeper; unlike Mathieu and Banus. Their eyes met for a moment and a silent agreement went between them. Alleno had to be stopped before he hurt Mathieu.

The action of raising the shortsword (it was too long to be a dagger) made his hood fall back a little, revealing his ruby eyes. These eyes were wide and staring, as Arquen imagined them to be. Only, this time, they were so wide that he looked demented. The sword was angled just right that, when it was brought down, it would pierce Mathieu's neck.

Belisarius began to creep closer to him, sticking to the shadows and holding up his hands ready to grab him. But he was moving too slowly. By the time he got there, Mathieu would surely be dead. Arquen began to move as well but she was further away and, if she moved faster, Alleno would surely look up. Mathieu shifted a little in his sleep, turning so more of his neck was visible. And vulnerable.

All this time, Alleno had plenty of opportunities to bring the blade down but he didn't. He made movements as though he was about to but the arm remained up. This was good; it gave Arquen and Belisarius more time to close in. Now, she felt no animosity towards the man who annoyed her so much before. They were now a united force to stop the mad boy from killing their brother.

Again, the boy hesistated. Arquen stopped and so did Belisarius, thinking they were caught and he knew they were there. But, he raised the knife a little higher, still glaring at Mathieu. Looking up, another silent agreement went between them. They had to pounce. It was now or never. Raising her arms at the ready, she gestured at the raised arm to indicate that she would get the knife out of his hand. A nod from Belisarius and they leapt upon him.

Belisarius grabbed him around the waist, while Arquen managed to wrestle the knife out of his hand. The boy struggled frantically but all attempts to escape were stopped by their combined effort. Her elation at saving her brother increased as they dragged him from the room and towards the stairs that led to the front door. Once they came to a small chamber, Belisarius slammed the boy against the wall,

"I knew there was something up with you." He snarled, "That little mute act of yours and acting all helpless. You may have fooled Mathieu but you didn't fool me, boy! I knew you were rotten right from the start. I knew you were tricking him. Is that what you do, eh? Befriend a member of the Black Hand then get to him when he isn't suspecting it? You make me sick, the both of you. You and your worthless Sanctuary. Yeah, you heard me! That's why they died. They were worthless, talentless, useless scum to be thrown aside for Sithis to deal with. And, you, you're no better. You're a traitor to the Dark Brotherhood and, for that, you will die like your master, begging for mercy."

His sword was raised and Arquen drew her dagger as well, hoping for the bloodlust high she had when killing Lachance. The boy had stopped struggling and was clutching his head so hard that it was as though he was trying to keep it on his neck, _Not that it'll do him any good._ She thought, maliciously. Just as Belisarius was about to draw the first blood, the boy threw up his head and opened his mouth wide.

A loud, wailing, tortured scream echoed around the small place, making Arquen stagger back because of the noise with her hands over her ears and her eyes screwed shut. She wasn't sure what happened next but, when she had recovered herself, the scream was still bouncing vehemently off the walls. A dark mass then knocked into her, making her stagger back.

Suddenly, the floor vanished from beneath her, making her lose her balance and fall backwards. The world seemed to be as disorientated as she, making the floor appear at one point then taking it away the next, leaving her to be thrown all over the place with whatever knocked her down entangled with her. Every knock bashed something painful and, by the time the world had righted itself, every inch of her body seemed to be throbbing.

Swearing under her breath, she painfully endevoured to extricate herself from whatever was now on top of her. When her head stopped spinning, she looked around to see Mathieu sitting bolt upright, looking wildly about, and Banus peering sleepily out from his bedroll, "Wos happ'in?" He slurred, "Wos goin' on?" Upon seeing Arquen, Mathieu, being the wonderful person he was, hurried out of his bedroll and pulled her out from under the heavy thing on top of her,

"What happened?" He asked, at once, "Where does it hurt most?"

"Hard to tell." Arquen groaned, "Legs, maybe."

The thing that had pinned her down made a moaning sort of noise and a head covered in greasy blond hair emerged from the mass of black. Belisarius's head had escaped from his hood when, Arquen supposed, he had knocked into her and forced them down. Banus now came to his senses upon seeing his hurt friend and hurried over to him, crying his name. She wasn't too sure of what happened immediately after as her head had begun swimming again.

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When she came to herself once more, Mathieu was busy with healing spells upon her and everything had stopped hurting. Reminding herself to thank him later, she looked around. Belisarius was propped against the wall with a near hysterical Banus working on his injuries. Even from her point of view, he looked a lot worse than her. His face was black and blue and his already-overlarge nose now had an ugly hook to it. He reminded her of a boxer she had once seen that had been hopelessly outmatched and hopelessly beaten in the ring.

"What happened, Miss Arquen?" Mathieu asked from her side, _Typical Breton._ She thought, _Always polite to the ladies,_

"We got Hlaalu in that chamber-" It struck her like a warhammer, "Hlaalu!" She looked all round the room but there was no sign of him,

"Alleno?" He looked confused, "Where is he? He wasn't in his bedroll."  
_Of course! He doesn't know._ She hastily relayed the story to a shocked Mathieu and an utterly astonished Banus who was listening in,

"But...but, I don't understand!" Banus exclaimed once he'd heard it in its entirety, "Why would Alleno do such a thing? He seemed like such a sweet little lamb! And he and Mathieu were such good friends!"

"He's mental." groaned Belisarius, clutching his head, "Completely mental."

"But, what did he do?" Mathieu asked, with the appearance of trying to get his head around it, "When you took him to that room, I mean? I know he screamed; it woke me up but what did he do then?"

"He beat me up and shoved off, that's what!" Belisarius snarled, "Shoved me right into Arquen. That's what made us fall down the stairs. Bloody hell. Look at what that rat did to my nose."

"Shoved off?" Mathieu leapt to his feet, "Where?"

"I don't know!" Belisarius snapped, "I don't care, either! The mad brat could throw himself off the Castle Skingrad bridge for all I care so long as he doesn't come within a mile of me again!"

But, Mathieu was already running out of the room with every intention of searching for the boy. Banus sprang up as well, "We should go and look for him too. That poor little thing must be so upset!"

"Upset?" Arquen repeated, amazed anew at his stupidity, "Banus, he tried to kill Mathieu! Didn't you hear a word I said? There's no point feeling sorry for him."

"Well, I'm sure there's a reason behind it." The Dunmer insisted, "I mean, maybe Mathieu said something really nasty. Or, maybe he didn't even want to kill him in the first place."

"If he's holding a dagger over Mathieu's neck, I think it's safe to assume that he _is_ out to kill him, Banus." Even Belisarius was starting to lose patience with his way of thinking,

"And," Arquen added, "if he wasn't out to kill him, why did he attack us?"

"Well..." Banus took a bit of time to think this over, "...he could just be...frustrated. Being a mute must be horrid. Especially when someone gets the wrong idea about something and you can't explain it. And, you aren't the most sensitive of people, Belisarius. You must have really made him upset."

"He isn't a little kid, Banus." snarled Belisarius, who was now getting up and dusting himself off, "He's a treacherous little rat like Lachance that needs trapping. I'm going to find him and drive my sword in his spine myself!"

"Oh, but Belisarius! Wait!" Banus followed behind him, trying to persuade him to think in his ludicrously optimistic way. Arquen huffed and flopped down on a stone bench, _Finally!_ She thought, _A chance for some peace and quiet. _Indeed, the place was now completely silent. A welcome change after those noisy men. There would be no change if the boy was killed or escaped. She would have appreciated it more if Banus had been the one to be in league with Lachance and had been the one who was being chased right now.

She amused herself for a while with images of Banus running across the fields, screaming his head off with Belisarius following him like a fox after a hound. While fantasising, she reclined a little to her left and came into contact with something sticky. Retracting that hand quickly, she summoned a magelight and examined it. Yes, it did look like blood. Not too recently split, it was beginning to dry. Looking around, she saw some on the end as well.

Maybe, it was from the Necromancers but there was no sign of any bodies or traces of bodies. Not to mention that it looked too recent. Confused, Arquen had a look round for clues. The bench was right next to one of the tall pillars which, strangely, had a length of rope encircled round it with a severed edge hanging loosely. Further investigation told her that the other end of the rope was lying coiled at the side of the bench. That rope was bloodstained as well,

_Perhaps the Necromancers had a fresh victim and had it tied up here._ Arquen thought, carelessly sitting down again to wait for the others to return.

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A/N: Do you think the personalities I'm giving the Black Hand members are plausible? Next chapter is a pretty big surprise! I'm going to be doing what no Oblivion fanfic writer has done before!


	16. Chapter 15: Doomsday

A/N: Yay! Another big haul of reviews! Now, this is a rather nervous time for me as I have started to take driving lessons now. I had my first one two days ago and I've got another tonight. Not to say that it will delay my stories any. It'll just make me a bit distracted.

I was originally going to split this chapter into two but, since I hinted at something in the second part in the last chapter, I felt I should keep them together. This is the longest chapter I've done yet. Nearly twice as long as all the others.

**BloodandDiamonds: **Yep, it's all a mystery now but keep all the details in mind as some of them are pretty important!

**maskedpainter: **Ah, you've gotta love Hamlet.

**Lily Ariel Black: **I was just wondering where you'd got to. Thanks for coming back!

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **I know it might seem confusing now but it all becomes clear in later chapters. I think you'll like this chapter if you like being spooked.

**Miss Lieress: **Sorry, that's already been done. Several times, I think. I dunno what made me do Banus like that. I suppose it was his speech about Lucien's death in Applewatch but I'm not too sure.

**Ijinzu: **Another old friend come back! I'm glad you like Banus. He is so likeable!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 15: Doomsday**

It was a long time before the men came back, hot, breathless and, moreover, empty handed. Belisarius shared Arquen's bad mood. He was restless, irritated and voiced over and over again how he longed to be the one to strike the boy dead, even if no one was listening. Banus was still adament that Boy (as Arquen took to calling him again) was innocent and it was all some terrible mistake. Mathieu had been the last to give up the search and would not speak through the rest of their stay in Silorn.

There was only time for a few hours sleep before they had to get on the move again and none of them really got any. Thoughts about a traitor still on the loose kept them awake. No one spoke as they were packing their things away. Boy's bedroll was left abandoned, the only thing of his that was left to abandon. As they left, Arquen kept her eyes and ears open, wary of any sign of Boy.

The rain had cleared up but the clouds still remained, covering up the stars and making the night even darker. In any other situation, Arquen would have celebrated this but the shadows could conceal Boy and it made her uneasy. Each of the Speakers lit a torch and made their way up the path. The lights from Skingrad radiated for about half a metre from the doors but they were moving away from it into the darkness.

The blackness, which Arquen normally loved, seemed to press in on them, filling her head with ideas of midnight monsters and making her consider night-eye and detect life spells. She would not stoop to that, though. Not yet. If anything did attack her, she would hear it first. Without really knowing, the four of them pressed closer together than they normally did.

Belisarius and Banus, in particular. Both were very jumpy and started at small noises, _Idiots._ Arquen thought, trying to persuade her nerves not to be like them. Mathieu was even more withdrawn and silent than before. He had his head down as though against a harsh wind and actually had his arms around himself as though trekking through the freezing Jeralls. She couldn't see why though. It wasn't a cold night.

As they walked, Arquen's reason began to fail her again. It was so dark all around them. Too dark. Surely, the last three nights had not been like this. The moons had been out then and had lent them some light. Now, the thick layer of clouds seemed to stifle all light that could aid them. Soon, Arquen was tripping over roots and stones like Boy had (though, thankfully, she didn't fall flat on her face like he). The men were faring even worse. Belisarius and Banus were now so close together that, when one fell, the other followed. A situation that Arquen found very funny.

Or, she would have in any other circumstance. The torchlight only extended so far and she could not pick out any landmarks in the gloom to suggest where they were. The West Weald was a flat, grassy plain with no distinctive hills or ruins around them. They could have wandered into Elsweyr for all she knew. She was starting to think that taking the roads was perhaps a good idea. At least then, they knew that they were going in the right direction.

Banus started to complain that his feet were hurting. He moaned that they had been walking for hours without a rest but Arquen pressed on, pretending she hadn't heard him. Then, Belisarius gave a cry of shock, as though something had struck him a heavy blow,

"What's the matter, Belisarius?" Banus asked, fretfully, forgetting about his aching feet at once. Arquen looked around, unable to bear their nonsense. The Imperial was staring up at the sky, eyes wide and face white as though he had seen a wraith,

"The stars." He gasped, "Look! The stars have gone out!"

"Don't be stupid!" snapped Arquen, "It's just cloud cover. Here, I'll prove it." She was in no mood to entertain these superstitions. They needed to concentrate of where they were going. Brusquely handing over her torch to Banus, she raised her arm and shot a fireball into the air. This, she was sure, would illuminate the clouds and, with any luck, put a hole in them.

The fireball soared high into the air and illuminated...nothing. It continued its course unhindered until it fizzled out some thousand yards above their heads. Arquen stared. That wasn't meant to happen. She was sure there were clouds above their heads blocking out the stars. But there was nothing there. Belisarius began to jabber wildly,

"I told you! There aren't any stars in the sky! There haven't been all night. Masser and Secunda are missing as well. And they're meant to be both full tonight! By Sithis, what's going on?"

Banus too was starting to panic, "Oh, how dreadful! What on earth could have happened? Oh, my! _Oh, my_!"

Mathieu was not even looking up. He kept his head down and, now she was close enough, Arquen noticed him shivering. To try and distract herself from the empty sky, she asked, "What's up with you, Mathieu?"

Distracted from the dreadful phenomenon, Banus looked down and immediately began fussing over him. As soon as he touched Mathieu's shoulder, he gave a loud, dramatic gasp, "Why, you're as cold as ice! Come, come, sit down. Let's have a look at you." Belisarius and Arquen found themselves holding two torches apiece as Banus began checking over Mathieu, who was pale and shaking. Whatever Banus was looking for, though, he could not find it. In the end, he gave up, "I'm so sorry but I can't find anything on the outside. Maybe if we get to Bravil, we can get a closer look. We certainly don't want you outside for longer than you have to. You'll catch your death out here!"

Banus took it upon himself to support his new patient with an arm around his shoulder as though Mathieu was a survivor of some dreadful battle. So, they continued on. Arquen thought that this might clear up once the sun rose and there was no cause for concern just yet. The sky wasn't falling on them or anything of that nature so that was alright.

But, hours passed and no sign of the sun came. There was not even the signs of Fort Black Boot where they intended to spend the day. Belisarius was becoming more and more jumpy and began muttering insane things like, "The sun has vanished! So have the stars and the moon! The end of the world-" Arquen snarled at him to shut up, while internally telling her nerves to do the same.

On, they went. Everyone was quiet now, glancing around nervously so much that Arquen started doing it. She wondered whether Boy had poisoned Mathieu before attempting to stab him to make him like this. She found herself looking back every now and again to make sure he wasn't about to collapse, which he certainly looked like he was going to at any moment.

Then, something reached her ears to make her stop dead. A soft, repetitive noise coming from a good distance away. The soft _clip, clop_ of a horse. Her blood ran cold as all the silly superstitions Belisarius held suddenly became real and frightening. Soon, the men started to hear it and began panicking again. Arquen took a deep breath and spoke in a low voice to try and calm her jittering nerves as well as theirs, "I think we all hear it now. Whatever it is has been following us since we left Gweden Farm and needs to be eliminated. Does everyone know a night-eye spell?"

There was a general murmur of agreement from the men,

"Good. Extinguish your torches and do it. Our stalker won't be able to see us in the dark but we will see him. We'll split up and whoever finds him first must send up a fireball for the rest of us. We'll do to him what he did to Lachance. Ready? Go!" The yellow light vanished and the whole world turned blue as Arquen turned on her night-eye,

_Thank Sithis! That's better! Why didn't I do that before instead of messing around with torches?_ Arquen loved the dark but she preferred it when she had some idea of where she was going. She watched the men go off in different directions into a clump of trees, Banus still supporting Mathieu. Arquen headed off in another direction and began to walk slowly and carefully, listening out for the hoofbeats. They were coming from her right and sounded much closer than before, _At last!_ She smirked, victoriously, _Got him!_ She began to speed up, her robes swishing around her ankles but her feet avoiding the dry twigs on the ground.

Finding a clump of bushes, she ducked behind them and peered around, _Yes!_ A long dark shape was about five yards ahead, moving slowly. It did look like a horse, with a rider astride. She began to sneak out from her cover and silently unsheethed her knife. Silently giving thanks to the Night Mother for allowing her the good sense to muffle her sheath, she looked around for a good vantage point.

The horseman had stopped now. From her viewpoint, he seemed to be hooded and wearing a robe or a cloak, _Hoods won't save you now, my shadowed friend! You may have evaded us until now but your time is up!_ She knew she should send up a fireball now but the flash would expose her and give the horseman a chance to escape. No, she had to pull him off his horse first and that would require being absolutely undetected.

Lowering her head slightly, she positioned herself on the tips of her toes and began to move forward. Glee mounted with every step she could. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she drew nearer to the beast. The horse might put up a fuss but it was but a horse and easily dealt with. She did not know what had happened to Lachance's monster of a horse but she was certain this was not it. She was now only a foot away. Ducking behind a tree, she silently debated whether or not to threaten him with her dagger or simply use a paralysis spell. Both options were rather tempting.

The dagger would be enough of a threat to make him stop moving but there was always the chance of slashing him prematurely which the others would not appreciate. The paralysis spell would certainly stop all movement but the flash would certainly startle the person and, should she miss, it would give him a chance to escape, _Ah, the agony of choice..._

Then, the perfect stillness of the night air was shattered by a loud scream of terror coming from the direction the men had come from. Arquen jerked around at the sound, her concentration broken. The horseman, realising that he was not alone, spurred his horse and he galloped out of sight before she could stop him. Snarling in defeat, she straightened up and whirled around, determined to find whoever had wreaked their chance of getting rid of their stalker.

She didn't have long to wait. Crashing wood and terrified panting reached her ears and, with a burst of flying leaves and twigs, Belisarius emerged from the hedge. Just as she was about to open her mouth to let him know just what he had done, Arquen was rendered speechless by him flinging himself at her and holding tight, "Wh-what in the name of Sithis-?"

"_I saw it!_" He wailed into her shoulder, utterly hysterical, "_I saw the ghost!_"

"What?" All disappointment and anger was replaced by confusion. It took Belisarius a few moments to calm down and even longer to make him let her go, "What ghost? What happened?"

Clutching a spiky crystal close to his heart like a chapelgoer would a rosary, he panted out the story, "I was-I was looking for the horse and then...and then, it appeared! Out of mid air, I swear it! It was real! It was this huge creature. Like a human but seven feet high!" With a little nodding from Arquen, he went on, leaving her wondering how more far-fetched this could get. He was so worked up that he was using his hands in dramatic gestures to aid his explanation rather like Banus would, "It was wearing a whi-white robe and a hood but I could see its face. By Sithis! It had the face of a rabbit-"

"A _rabbit?_" Arquen was just about to tell him exactly what he thought of this ghost when two identical cries of shock came from within the woods. Standing up, Arquen hurried towards the noise, renewing her night-eye spell as she did. After a fraction of second, she heard Belisarius do the same. All the way, he feverishly tried to convince her that his stupid story was real, _Must have been walking for too long._ She thought, _Imperials have no stamina whatsoever!_

The trees opened out at a small brook with steep banks which must lead to Niben Bay. Skidding to a halt, she saw Banus holding onto Mathieu's arm, while he struggled from the dark water, coughing and gasping for breath. Belisarius immediately rushed to Banus' side and gave him a hand, "Did you see it? Did you see the ghost as well?" He asked, feverishly,

"G-ghost?" repeated Mathieu, the shivers coming into his speech, "N-no. I-I just sl-slipped."

"Well," Banus said, cheerfully, "I was just thinking that I needed to refill my canteen! How lucky of us!"

Shaking her head at his stupid joke, she looked down at the brook. The water seemed to be incredibly muddy and certainly didn't look drinkable. She could barely see the bottom even with her night-eye. It was no wonder all the slaughterfish and mud crabs had died. They floated upon the water, bloated and darkened in death. An overpowering stench of rotten fish was coming from it, along with something else that Arquen couldn't quite put her finger on. She wrinkled her nose at the realisation that the mud had stained Mathieu's robe up to his neck.

Mathieu himself was inspecting the damage with an increasingly horrified expression. Belisarius eased himself onto a wooden jetty and began to inspect the water. The smell became too much for Banus, who covered his nose with his sleeve in disgust. Arquen watched as Belisarius pulled off his glove, dipped his hand in the water and investigated it. The water did not run off his hands with ease but stayed there. No, it wasn't water. It was much thicker and had a strange shine that one would not get with simple dirty water,

"Get back!" cried Belisarius, making Mathieu jump, "All of you! Get back from the water, now!" All of them instinctively backed away at Belisarius' tone. He sounded so serious. The strange water was still on his hands and he was staring at it, with the same expression as Mathieu, "Blood!" He gasped, "The water's turned to blood!"

"_What?_" Arquen staggered a little. This was the most far-fetched statement of the lot. Ghosts, the stars going out, Mathieu falling ill and now this! Banus was beside himself,

"_Oh, my heavens! Oh, my Dread Father! What's going on here?_" He wailed, "_What madness is this?_"

Arquen opened her mouth to tell him to stop it but then, a low sound reached her ears. Whipping round, she saw the dark shape of the horseman ten yards ahead among the trees. It was a moment before she realised that the horseman was laughing at them. A flush of anger rushed into her face and, jabbing a finger in his direction, she screamed, "After him!"

The men scrambled after Arquen as she gave chase. The horseman, with no trace of panic at being discovered, simply turned his beast around and galloped off. Just then, the earth before her exploded. Screaming, she leapt back as soil cascaded over her and knocked into Belisarius as she did. As both of them crashed to the ground, the air settled and dust hung in the air,

"Wh-what just happened, here?" Banus gaped, looking at the crator bigger than his fist left in the ground. Picking herself up and pulling herself together, she examined it as well. The crator was square-shaped and an inch deep. The Dunmer voiced what she was thinking, "Just like a warhammer strike!"

"Who's there?" Arquen called, thinking it was probably the horseman's accomplice under an invisibility spell, "If you reveal yourself now, we might kill you nice and quickly!"

Nothing. Then, another strike smashed open the ground. This time, it was close to Mathieu's foot, making him leap a foot into the air in fright. Snarling, Arquen threw up her arm and performed a detect life spell, _This should reveal him!_ Nothing. Absolutely nothing there. Life glowed within Belisarius, Banus and Mathieu but there was nothing else around them.

Then, it happened a third time, around Mathieu's feet again. Still nothing. Nothing but thin air. All she could do was stand in stunned silence. Everything she was seeing this night was contradicting every bit of common sense she had. A ghost appearing, the water turning to blood with no explanation, someone falling ill for no explanation and a non-existant warhammer punching holes in the ground.

Belisarius was now beside himself with panic. He had drawn his sword on the defence but it was clear that he knew it wouldn't help. Banus was clinging to Mathieu as though he was his first-born son, staring about him terrified. Arquen could no longer stand by reason. Fear was clouding her mind and she could no longer think of anything to explain this away or make it less frightening. She tried telling herself that it was only the dark and the unknown that she feared but that was no use,

"L-let's go!" hissed Mathieu, hauling himself up, looking more ill than ever, "We c-can't st-stay here."

Arquen nodded and began wandering off aimlessly away from the pool. Now, she had absolutely no sense of direction and any idea where she was going. She didn't like this one bit. She had been safe in the knowledge that she knew what she was going out of the four of them but now, all that security had vanished. Gulping, she renewed her night-eye in the vain hope that it would make everything clearer. The horseman was long gone in the confusion but Arquen barely thought of it.

Then, it happened again. Close to Mathieu, yet again, and making them all leap with shock. At this, Belisarius lost his head and bolted. Banus soon followed, half carrying Mathieu, screaming like an idiot. Arquen hurried after them, dodging trees and bushes while crashes behind her told them that they were being chased. She didn't dare to look round in case it slowed her down or made her run into something. Still, the invisible warhammer thundered onto the ground behind them, gaining fast.

Her fear aided her longer legs, allowing her to overtake the men and run ahead. Just blindly forward with no sense of direction whatsoever. Her robes ripped on the undergrowth and her hood flew off her face but she didn't care. She could feel their attacker getting closer and closer. Bits of earth and foliage smacked her in the back every few seconds and Belisarius gave a shout of panic at every crash.

Then, the blue blur before her lightened. At first, she thought it was the dawn and her heart actually leapt at the thought, something it had never done before. She exploded out of the trees and she had gone about a metre before she could bring herself to a halt. Her lungs strained for air and it was only when she stopped did she realise how much her feet hurt,

"Thank the Nine you're alright!" She jumped at the voice to her left. A Nord farmer (she assumed by his simple clothes) stood beside her, his arms full of unlit torches, "It ain't safe to be in the woods any more. Me and my boys have been lighting torches on the road to help people find it. There's no way you can see otherwise." Indeed, she was on the Green Road at last, which was lined with flaming torches struck in the ground, each about a metre apart.

Just as her mouth began to take in the required amount of air, three dark figures burst from the trees. Belisarius, white-faced and still panic-stricken, took a whole two minutes to get his breath back. Banus and Mathieu actually collapsed to their knees in exhaustion, gasping like divers that had just come to the surface. The Nord looked all around at them, bemusedly,

"You all together or-?"

"Business trip." Arquen said, hastily, "We were in the wilderness when...all this started happening."

"Ah, you're not the first I've found. You're lucky you're not being chased by vampires."

"Vampires?" Belisarius repeated, in a high voice. In his mind, vampires were a close second to ghosts in his spectrum of fear,

"Aye. It's the blood. Driving them all crazy." The Nord pointed in the direction of the Nibenay Basin, "Don't know how it happened and I don't want. Whether it's them mad mages or necromancers, I don't want to know. What I do know that it's turned all the water in Cyrodiil into blood!"

"_What?_" Banus gasped, in horror, "It can't be!"  
"That's what I've been hearing." He nodded, then added as he gestured at Mathieu, "You'd better keep your friend away from them. They'll be on him like a pack of wolves. Ah, a Breton, eh? No wonder you're looking that bad."

"What's going on, man?" Arquen snapped, impatiently, "What do you know about this madness?"

"Ah, not much." The Nord took a seat on a rock between two torches, leaving them to recover themselves on the road, "Just rumours from people coming past my inn. Oh, yeah, I'm Manheim, by the way. Proprietor of the Inn of Ill Omen. I've never been so crowded until today. Travellers from all over the place diving in and I don't blame 'em. Scared out of their wits.

"So, you wanted to know what was going on. Like I said, I don't know what caused any of it but the sun won't rise and Masser, Secunda and the stars have vanished. Can you believe it's around eight in the morning now and not a thing. But, I suppose you've figured that out already. I told you about the blood but there's more. Every Breton I've met has gotten ill without any warning. They get all cold and clammy. One of 'em said that he felt like a dagger was being held at his throat. That how you feel, sir?"

Mathieu nodded, looking as though he might be sick if he opened his mouth,

"Yeah, every Breton's like that. You're not alone. All this stuff, it's making people crazy. Some people say how they saw a ghost in the woods. Some big white-robed thing with a rabbit's head. It sounds like a load of cobblers to me." This, however, made Belisarius hiss to a transfixed Banus,

"I saw it! I saw it too!"

Manheim ignored him, "I dunno about that but I can see you've escaped from that phantom warhammer just now. Well, that's what people call it. Like an invisible warhammer hitting the ground. It's been chasing people all over the place. Chased one Breton right into Niben Bay and then he was got by the vampires, apparently."

Belisarius gulped very audibly,

"That's not all. Farmers have come down here to say that all the lambs in their field have been shot dead. Aye, shot dead. He showed me one of the arrows. Amber glass arrows, a rare thing in these parts. No one knows who did it but there was always only one arrow in each lamb-"

CRASH!

Banus yelped in shock and fell onto his backside as a great bolt of lightning cleft the sky and struck the water about a hundred metres away. A great torrent of water leapt up and back down again with a spraying splash, "Yep. That's another thing. The lightning." Manheim nodded, though he too had leapt up in shock, "There aren't any clouds but it still comes down. I heard from someone that the Anvil Lighthouse has been struck and brought down by it. All these things happening at once. People are calling this Doomsday."

Mathieu gave a small start of surprise at this which could have been mistaken for a shiver. The Nord stood up and picked another torch out of the bundle, "Well, I've been talking long enough. Come to the Inn of Ill Omen until this all blows over if you like."

"No, thank you." Arquen did not like the idea of being in a crowded inn, especially since they were so close to the Night Mother, "We need to get to Bravil."  
"Fair enough." shrugged Manheim, "Just one more thing." He added, as though just remembering as they were turning round, "Watch out for the locusts."

Suppressing the urge to ask what he meant, Arquen pressed on. She knew that Bravil was a filthy town and she wouldn't be surprised if there were a few insects about. Banus and Belisarius were both nearly as pale as Mathieu as they pressed on, "How _dreadful_! Oh, Belisarius, I'm so frightened! All this happening at once. Why, I'm shaking all over! Feel my hands!"

"We will be safe once we reach the resting place of the Night Mother." Arquen insisted, again trying to calm herself. Her nerves were behaving very erratically. They just would not calm down, no matter what she did or tried to convince herself. They wished to ally themselves with Belisarius' wild superstitions and indulge in folklore fantasies to scare children. She tried to quash them with common sense; perhaps the Mages' Guild was pulling some stupid stunt or an insane experiment that was going horribly wrong. They would fix it soon enough and there was no cause for concern.

Time and their feet dragged. Lightning crashed all around them, making Banus scream in shock every time. He seemed to be as frightened of lightning as Belisarius was of ghosts. At last, the lights of Bravil appeared like a beacon and, again, Arquen's heart leapt at the light where it would have previously sunk. It seemed that it wasn't just her nerves acting oddly, _Next thing I know, I'll be mourning for my victims!_ She thought, half-joking. The men too looked very glad to see the town. The lights were all lit but there were no guards, _Good. The last thing we want is too many people seeing us or travelling only at night would have been a total waste._

The town of Bravil was just as quiet. The streets were deserted but the windows blazed in the darkness. Everyone was probably hiding inside in fear of the strange things happening. Or, it was quiet for about half a second. A great buzzing rose in the air, quiet at first and then rising to a crescendo. Arquen halted for a tiny second to look around. Then. it hit them.

Thousands upon thousands of them. Small, angry, buzzing things in the air, clouding her vision. Arquen cried out in pain as she felt them bite at her skin and her clothes. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she grabbed at the things and managed to grab one, crushing it in the process. Screaming as more and more of them descended, she waved her hands blindly in an effort to get them off.

Still, they came. No matter how many ones she batted off, more latched onto her. She was sure to be eaten alive bit by bit if they didn't get away. A bright orange flare suddenly illuminated them and the cloud of insects were lifted, "Come on!" A hand grabbed the scruff of her neck and dragged her away. In a blind panic, Arquen followed. Soon, she was being shoved through a door and into a table.

Massaging her stomach, she turned round in time to see Banus slamming the door and Belisarius and Mathieu trying to catch their breath, "Wh-what happened?" Arquen demanded,

"I used a fireball...to keep them off." Banus gasped, for once, not simpering, "Kept them at bay...long enough to...to get us inside."

_A fireball!_ She thought, cursing inwardly, _Why didn't I think of that?_ Realising she was still holding one of the things, she opened her hand. A bright red grasshopper-like insect with green glittering wings lay in it, "Must be locusts...he warned us about." Banus said, clutching a stitch in his side, "Whew! I don't want to do that again! What on earth possessed them to attack us? Locusts don't attack people!"

Belisarius helped up Mathieu, whose teeth had begun chattering, and aided him into a chair. Then, he began to busy himself with the fireplace, "This should smoke out any of those things that try to come in through the chimney." He explained, as he began to throw tinder on the growing fire, "And, it should do Mathieu some good."

"I look a mess!" cried Arquen, having just caught the sight of herself in the mirror,

"We _all_ look a mess, Arquen." Belisarius pointed out. A look round told her this was true. All of them looked as though they had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Their robes were muddy around the hems and torn from running through the forest. Banus had an entire chunk missing, revealing his bruised right leg where he had probably bashed into something. All of them had their hoods blown back from running so twigs and leaves had become entangled in their hair. Then again, that might not have been too bad. It was the locust attack that was the worst. Their robes had more holes than pepperpots and they were covered in bloody scratches.

Probably to take his mind of the state they were all in, Belisarius turned to Banus, who was still clutching his stitch, "What is this place?"

"Ungolim's house." His voice sounded strained, as though he was in a lot of pain, "I thought it would be empty since he is dead. I am sure that he will not mind-mind us using-" His voice cut off. Then, his eyes closed and he collapsed to the floor,

"Banus!" Belisarius rushed to his side, all in a panic. Arquen too approached, hoping that her fears of the locusts eating people were unfounded. Banus' limp hands were moved from his side and they tried to see what was causing it. Blood was upon his robes but they were still intact, "Arquen, you know about restoration, don't y-"

Belisarius' words cut off as well and he clutched his jaw. Mathieu gave a loud gasp between his chattering teeth and Arquen knelt down beside him to see what was happening. Blood was oozing through his gloves and staining the neck of his robes. Just as she was about to move his hands away, he collapsed as well. Leaping up before he fell into her lap, he glanced at Mathieu.

The Breton was pale but not just from his illness. He was terrified and it was plain to see why. Banus had begun to twitch, though he was not waking up. Belisarius soon started as well. Then, it happened. A stabbing pain went through her, as though someone had pushed a knife right into her gut. She cried out in agony, clutching her stomach where she began to feel hot blood beneath it. Yet, she knew nothing was wrong. She knew no one was attacking her. Her world blurred and darkened, until it was total blackness.

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None of them talked about what went on after that. It was best not to think about it. Only a few words were exchanged on the subject and it had been agreed then that they had all gone through the same thing. Days later, Arquen still found it hard to forget the accusing voices who did not listen to her pleading to see reason, knowing somehow that they were people who were her friends, and the stabbing agony of what felt like at least four different blades piercing her. There was no physical harm to their bodies but their robes were covered in blood. If it were not for that, one could have almost called it a dream. The most vivid nightmare one could ever imagine.

It was silently agreed that they should go to the Night Mother straight away and make sure that the disaster-ridden journey had not been in vain. No one was outside and they moved quickly to attempt evading the locusts. Arquen gave silent thanks to Sithis that the Lucky Old Lady was so close to Ungolim's house. She stood before the statue as the men took their positions around it,

"Unholy Matron!" At least her voice was no longer shaking. This was it, now. It was almost over, "We of the Black Hand beseech you! Reveal yourself now, most magnificent Night Mother, so that we may seek your guidance!"

A moment's silence. Then, with a creaking crumbling sound, the statue wasted away, the children vanishing, and a faint screaming sound alerted them to a trap door revealed by the stone woman moving back as she contorted. Her heart leapt at the sight and her nerves fluttered as she approached. This time, with excitement. Like a child on her birthday. The trap door opened smoothly, revealing a winding stone staircase.

She descended down, keeping her hand on the wall for security (she never felt comfortable with that sort of staircase). She could hear the men follow her, Banus back in his stupid cheerfulness, "It's finally happening! We're going to see the Night Mother! Oh, how wonderful!" At last, they came to an archway, leading into a stone crypt.

And, there she was. Stepping down from her tomb like a queen descending from the royal carriage, the Night Mother. Arquen dropped down to her knees, her head bowed in the utmost respect and she heard the men do the same behind her. The ghostly woman before them stared balefully, before speaking, "What is the meaning of this desecration? Who has disturbed my ancient slumber?"

Her words hit Arquen like a slap across the face, accusing and angry. Summoning all her courage, she looked up into the Night Mother's face and said, "It is I, Arquen, come with Belisarius Arius, Banus Alor and Mathieu Bellamont. Dearest Night Mother, most Unholy Maiden! Please, we beg your mercy in this, our time of need. The Black Hand seeks your guidance!"

"Ah, yes, I have been expecting you." The Night Mother still did not relent. She became impatient and annoyed, "The Listener kneels by Sithis as does his successor, my once proud Black Hand is in ruins and the dregs of it now stand before me, begging me for wisdom. There is a traitor amongst you and all your chances of salvation are dead or driven away."

"The traitor is dead, dear Mother." Arquen replied, not without a slight tremour to her voice as she remembered that Boy still roamed free, "We have come now to ask your blessing. Anoint one of us your Listener so that we may restore the Black Hand." She hoped that she didn't sound too demanding but, when the Night Mother spoke next, her voice was like the lash of an icy-cold whip,

"Foolish little girl! Lucien Lachance served Sithis until his dying breath, as will his faithful Silencer! The Black Hand remains tainted by betrayal! Restoration is impossible!"  
"Enough! Enough of this!" Before Arquen could disgest this or even turn round, Mathieu's voice had cut through the air. Then, Banus gave a cry of pain and surprise. Panicking again, Arquen whipped round. Banus was sprawled across the floor, clutching his stomach, and Mathieu was standing, clutching his dagger. Between them stood a hooded figure, clutching a claymore wrapped in sack cloth. Banus looked unhurt (it was hard to tell with his robes in such a mess) though the stranger was bleeding from a deep gash across their arm.

With a snarl of defeat and a face of thunder, he whipped round and turned on Belisarius, who had only just put his hand on his sword. The stranger was too quick for him, however. She didn't even see them move but they was between Mathieu and Belisarius in an instant, blocking Mathieu's sword easily. Thwarted, Mathieu tried to reach past but Belisarius was kicked out of range before he could even get past them.

Thwarted again, Bellamont, this time, slashed at the stranger's shadowed face. She couldn't see if it hit or not at this point but the strange leapt back, towards the doorway. When she was standing still, Arquen could see that she (for she was female) was wearing a near-pristine Black Hand robe only fastened at the neck so it hung like a sort of cloak over her shrouded armour.

Bellamont faced her, dagger poised, as she began to undo the clasp. With one liquid movement, she had thrown off the robe to reveal her face. And, what a face! The first thing that caught her eye was not that she was a Dunmer but she had brightly orange hair, the sort one would never see on humans, let alone a Dark Elf. This was tied back in a high ponytail with a braid each side framing her face. All of this was fastened with white ribbons that had a silver ring hanging off each end. He had slashed her face, forcing her right eye closed. The wound oozed blood all the way down her face, dripping onto her chest.

But it was her eye that was still open that was truly astonished. It wa alive with determination and strength, as though she had been waiting her whole life to do this, and glared at Bellamont as though she had done him a thousand personal wrongs.

There was silence for a moment, as everyone began to realise what was going on. The scene was frozen: the strange holding her wrapped sword at the ready, Bellamont holding his dagger poised, Belisarius and Banus in the process of picking themselves up, Arquen staring upon the scene before her and the Night Mother looking upon the stranger with a expression of pride on her face.

Then, she charged at Bellamont and the spell was broken. A confused flurry of action started too fast for her to keep up with. The Breton retreated towards Arquen, who fumbled desperately for her dagger but too late. Bellamont managed to grab her by the scruff of the neck and pull her in front of him. Before she could do anything, she felt the cold point of his dagger against her neck, "Stop!" Bellamont ordered, as the other two men scrambled for their swords.

The scene froze again. Arquen didn't dare move a finger in case the dagger pressed down into her throat, _Damn it! How the hell did I manage to get captured so easily? _She was utterly helpless as Bellamont unsheathed her dagger and threw it away. Her heart sank as it clattered against the wall, useless, "Drop your swords or I send her to her grave!" He snarled at the others.

The reaction was instant. The stranger threw her sword behind her, where it spun wildly and bashed against the doorway, "No!" cried Banus, horrified. Belisarius too looked stricken but said nothing. Arquen wanted to cry out in anguish as well but held her tongue, fearing the blade at her neck. Then, at a nod from the stranger, the men dropped their swords as well. At this point, she could not help but think that their last hope had gone.

Bellamont certainly seemed to think so. He let out a demented cackle and said in a dark, oily voice that Arquen did not think him capable of, "I knew that would work with you! It would not work with Arius or Alor but you're not like them, are you? Now, be a good girl and throw that shortsword you're hiding at my feet."  
Belisarius and Banus gave identical groans of agony as she obedientely produced an elven shortsword from her sleeve, the same kind Alleno had used to attempt to kill Bellamont, _If only we hadn't stopped him!_ Arquen thought, with dread and regret. Without a moment's hesistation, she threw it at his feet. With another chilling laugh, he stomped hard upon it, making it shatter, "Foolish little puppet! Do you think you can break your strings so easily? You are mine and obey me!"

He threw Arquen aside and flung himself at the girl. Arquen got her feet and tried to reach for her dagger but her legs would not move. Everything from her waist down was locked in place as though it were encased in stone. Looking around, she saw Belisarius and Banus in the same dilemma,

"Do not move, you three." The Night Mother snapped, "This is a battle between them and them alone."

Though she would never say it out loud, she thought it looked less like a battle and more like the stranger dodging his knife. She weaved and ducked out of its path, being slowly backed towards the doorway. But the wounds must be starting to get to her and she was beginning to slow. Bellamont, on the other hand, was getting more and more excited and speeding up. Then, she tried to get past him but was too slow.

The dagger sank into her left shoulder all the way to the hilt. Banus gave a cry of surprise, starting to panic and thrash about, trying to free himself from whatever restrait they were in. Belisarius sucked in a gasp of horror, as did Arquen. Though the others were now panicking, she did not utter a sound. She allowed herself to be forced to her knees by Bellamont, who let go of the dagger and knelt down in front of her.

Now, his voice had become his normal polite tone with a spine-chilling edge, "Oh, you know I do not mean to kill you. I simply meant to stop you from getting in my way. Now, if you had just let me kill them, I wouldn't have had to ruin your body like this. But, no matter. I can fix it later. A little pain now doesn't matter." While he was doing this, his lips roved over her face in a way Arquen found perverted and sickening, _I never thought he could be like this!_ The stranger stayed still as a statue, seemingly impassive to everything surrounding her.

Bellamont then gripped the dagger and turned to the others, a look of thunder back on his face, "As for the rest of you, you will all suffer for the pain you have caused me. I will destroy your Night Mother and the Dark Brotherhood will fall!" Cold fear filled Arquen; she was sure now that all was lost. The stranger that was probably their last hope was down, they could not move an inch and the Night Mother was undefended, _How could I have been so stupid?_ She thought, angrily to herself, _I led him straight here and I never once thought he was the one!_ Belisarius and Banus seemed to be thinking the same thing. Both looked pained and anguished, just the things she felt.

She watched hopelessly as Bellamont made to stand and pull out the dagger. Arquen closed her eyes, ready for the death blow...which never came. There was a high-pitched scream and the thump of a body falling, which she was sure was either Belisarius and Banus but there was no victorious cackle or cry of agony from the other. Cracking an eye open, she gasped at the scene.

Bellamont was curled up in pain on the ground, clutching the stump that had been his right hand. The stranger was miraculously on her feet, clutching a long ebony claymore with both hands. Bewildered at this sudden turning of the tables, she looked all around for any clue as to where the sword had come from. Then, she saw the sack-cloth at her feet and she understood. The stranger had thrown their sword away on purpose and had been just leading Bellamont to a place where she could get to it. Extremely risky but an extremely brilliant idea.

Bellamont, himself, his face white with pain, tried to tug himself on one of the coffins. There was a dark blur and another wailing screech. His other hand flumped useless to the floor, sending a wave of excitement through her. All wasn't lost after all. He was handless, helpless and at the stranger's mercy. She wished that she were free so that she could have a piece of Bellamont as well but, still, she was bound. Banus and Belisarius were just as elated; Banus clapping his hands with glee and Belisarius grinning manically.

The stranger, however, showed no sign of delight. She was only full of the same determination and fury that was visible when she first appeared. To hold him down, she stomped hard on Bellamont's chest and glared down at him with fire in her eye, "No, Bellamont." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and full of venom, "It is _you_ who shall suffer for the pain you have caused _me_. You are something lower than the Dark Brotherhood and deserve to die a_ thousand _agonising deaths for what you have done. What a pity that I can only kill you once."

The ebony claymore was raised and then, sunk deep into his stomach. Coughing up blood, Bellamont screamed and howled in agony, making the three of them on the sidelines quiver with delight. There was their traitor, exposed, helpless, pinned to the floor and unable to do anything. Was there ever a more wonderful sight? She willed the stranger to begin twisting the sword, to make him scream even more, _Yes, make him suffer for what he's done!_ She thought, hopefully.

The stranger ignored her and turned back to the sack cloth, "You thought that the shortsword was my hidden weapon. You are mistaken." With that, she reached into it and pulled out a glittering elven claymore. Arquen goggled at it, _There were TWO in there? They must weigh a ton!_ Bellamont too stared at it, "You recognise this, do you not?"

"L-Lachance..." He gasped out, between coughing up more blood,

"Yes. Lucien's sword. Now, I fulfill his last wish." The sword was raised slowly, like an executioner's axe. The atmosphere in the crypt was quivering with anticipation. Bellamont lost all courage at once and began babbling frantically,

"No! No! Please, spare my life! It was Mother! Mother told me to do it! Mercy! Have mercy on me!"  
"For Vicente." The stranger's voice became a growl of rage, rising in volume as she spoke, "For Lucien. For everyone who suffered because of you." She glared down at him, her face contorted with the utmost anger she had ever seen, "You_ will DIE_!" Practically screaming the last word, she brought the sword down upon his neck so hard that it made a gash in the floor beneath it.

Silence reigned. The strange struck Bellamont's idly rolling head and began to push down hard into the temple until, with a wonderfully nasty squelching noise, it went straight through and stood on its own.

Then, the three were released. Banus wasted no time in rushing to the woman's side, fussing over her injuries worse than ever, "Oh, you poor dear! Look at all that blood! Come here, sit down. Rest yourself. I'll take care of it. Oh, how dreadful! Doesn't that hurt?" And, so on. As soon as he had reached her, Belisarius burst out,

"That was so_ stupid_! Why did you throw your sword away?"

"I would have thought it obvious that I was making sure none of you got caught in the crossfire." She leaned on the elven sword. The only betrayal of what must be absolute agony. Batting away Banus' hands, she tugged out the dagger herself, letting it clatter to the floor. Then, she held them all with a one-eyed iron glare, "My name is Lenore. I was Lucien's Silencer until he died at your ignorant hands."

"What?" Arquen repeated, confused, "But, what about Alleno?"

"He is my associate." Lenore answered, shortly, "Lucien agreed to keep his initiation into the Brotherhood a secret. He is a rank below me and was saved from the Purification by the Black Hand being unknowing of his existance. That's enough, Banus. Just close the wound to scarring point and I'll do the rest on my own." She waved off his healing spells just as he was working on her eye. It was now just a scar now, running from her forehead down her cheek. Her eye, though relatively unharmed, was still bloodshot but had the power of her normal eye,

"When it reached me that Bellamont had tampered with my orders, Alleno and I gathered evidence and hurried to Lucien's hiding place. I gathered at once that we were too late and I sent Alleno in my place to uncover the traitor. Even I am surprised that he infiltrated the Black Hand so effectively. While he observed you all from within your ranks, I rode from a distance on Shadowmere. It was I Belisarius kept hearing along the way. So it was until yesterday. That'll be enough for my arm, Banus. Focus on my shoulder, please.

"I do not know what happened but he fled Silorn and ran straight into me. His mental stability is fragile at best and, then, he was utterly hysterical. It took me about three hours to calm him down and he still would not tell me what transpired. He did tell me that he managed to find out who the traitor was before he escaped. I assumed that he had been discovered and hid him away before continuing my pursuit of you. It is clear now that my assumption was not the case."

"No." Belisarius said, awkwardly, going red at the realisation of his mistake, "I thought he was in league with Lachance. Y'know...a traitor..." He trailed off at her hard glare. Arquen was astonished; Belisarius was a total wimp when it came to ghosts and superstitions but he was alright with living people. He never lost his nerve in front of anyone before now as far as she knew,

"You would do well to confirm your assumptions of people's loyalty before making your judgement of them." Her voice had a deadly calm edge to it and it was clear who she was referring to, "That'll be fine, Banus." She broke away from them and began tearing chunks of Bellamont's robe away. With them, she fashioned makeshift bandages around her chest, her arm and her face, "That will keep them closed." She said, simply. Then, she turned to the Night Mother, who still gazed upon Lenore with unmistakable pride, and bowed formally, "Unholy Matron, I do hope you forgive my late arrival."

"Not to worry, dear child." A ghostly smile appeared on the Night Mother's face and Arquen could not help but feel a twinge of jealously at it, "You arrived not a moment too soon. You are indeed a sight for sore eyes after these fools." Arquen could not help but flinch as though something had been thrown at her, "Your loyalty to Lucien Lachance is admireable and you never doubted his loyalty to Sithis for a moment. You saw through Mathieu Bellamont and I ensured that you were the one to end his trail of carnage, just as you desired and were destined to. Just as you are destined to be my new Listener."

This statement sent a silent shockwave through the other three. The first thing Arquen felt was disappointment of being passed over. Then, shock at this upstart being higher than her. She dared not say a word, however, for fear of reproachment from both the Night Mother and Lenore. Something deep within her told her that it was only right and fair that Lenore should be the Listener. She had been the one to end the treachery, after all, not to mention that she saved their lives. The Night Mother went on,

"You possess strength, cunning and enormous drive to ensure that the Dark Brotherhood endures even the most dreadful of hours. How could I choose any other over you?"

"I thank you, Night Mother." Again, Lenore spoke formally, unlike the awed way Arquen had spoke to her before. Then, her voice became business-like, "Now, what would you have us do? Though a leader has been chosen, the Brotherhood is still far from order."

"You are right." The Night Mother nodded, "There is much to be done. Let me suggest a Speaker for each of the four Sanctuaries in Cyrodiil. Speaker Alor may stay with his present Sanctuary but Speaker Arius should take over Sanctuary Arquen while Speaker Arquen should take over Sanctuary Lachance. As for the sanctuary that was under Bellamont's control, well, I am sure you can find a suitable candidate, hmm?" She gave a little ominous chuckle. Lenore understood immediately,

"So long as his recovery is not prolonged and he is able to take on the responsibility as well as his present duties."

"Alleno!" gasped Banus, which was ignored,

"I believe that everything else can be taken care of. I have confidence in you to lead this Brotherhood to glory, Listener. Go now and walk always in the shadow of Sithis."

With a third bow, Lenore stood up and picked up her robe. She put it on properly this time over her torn armour and pulled up the hood. She looked very well groomed compared to the others, despite being the most damaged of them all. One by one, she picked up her claymores and sheethed them both on her back to form a sort of cross. She also, strangely, picked up Bellamont's severed hands and, wrapping them in another piece of his robe, stuffed them in her pocket.

Without another word, she turned and began to walk towards the staircase. The Speakers hurried to follow their new Listener, hastily bowing to the Night Mother as they went. As they ascended the spiral staircase, Banus began to talk in a low voice, "Oh, what idiots we've been! To think it was Bellamont all along and we had no idea! Poor Lucien! Poor Alleno! Do you think I will ever get a chance to make it up to him?"

"It's not you, Banus." stated Belisarius, "It's me who made Alleno run off. You were right about him."

_There's something I never thought I'd hear._ Arquen though, _Someone telling Banus that he was right. It must be Doomsday after all._

A cold wind hit their faces as the staircase lightened. As she poked her head over the trapdoor, she was met with a vision of dazzling white. Shielding her eyes, she stepped out into Bravil, only to be met by something cold and crunching at her feet. The Listener had stopped before the statue, gazing up at the bright sky. Bewildered, Arquen looked down at her feet to see that the ground had turned white as well. Pale flakes fell as heavily as the rain from yesterday upon them. Banus voiced the revelation as the door to the Night Mother's crypt closed behind them,

"It's _snowing_!"

And, so it was. The flakes were as big as Arquen's thumbnail and stuck fast to the ground. People were wandering out of their houses to stare the new phenomenon. Children had begun to throw snowballs at each other, hardly daring to believe this impossible occurance. There were no locusts, no ghosts and no lightning to be seen. Just snow falling thick and fast upon the normally balmy, wet town of Bravil,

"Just like Bruma!" Belisarius stated, as Banus started trying to catch one on his tongue. Then, he picked at his rather thin robes, "A bit too cold to be dressed like this. What do you say we get some fur cloaks-

"And, maybe a drink at Silverhome on the Water to celebrate the anointment of our new Listener!" Banus chirped, back in his cheerful mood.

Lenore nodded and began to lead them away from the Lucky Old Lady. As they walked, Arquen noticed her carrying a bouquet of tiger lilies that seemed to have come out of nowhere. She managed to count eight in all.

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Over twenty years later, Arquen woke up to the sound of a door opening. She lifted her head off the table from where she had fallen asleep, waiting for the Listener to arrive, _Why on earth did I dream about that?_ She wondered. There was an Oblivion crisis on with the Listener in the middle of it. This was no time to look back on troubled times. Banus still snored softly, his head lolling onto his chest. Belisarius' head was resting on the table like Arquen had so there was no way of telling whether he was asleep or awake. Alleno's chair was still empty as it had been when they had first congregated.

Footsteps approached and a soft knock reverberated through the wood, "Come in." Arquen called, a little more loudly than necessary to try and wake the men up. No such luck. The Listener opened the door just enough to let herself through, as always. It was strange to see her in armour, let alone a Kvatch guard armour. She had been told by Murderers who had seen her that she now wore that as often as she had worn her black robe before.

Seeing the two men asleep, she gave the door a very hard slam and that did the trick. Belisarius' head shot off his arms, looking around in a daze. Banus too jolted awake, "Wos goin' on? Oh!" He gasped, seeing her, "Hello, Listener! Good to see you again! You're looking well!" He always greeted her like this, even if it wasn't strictly true. Though, Arquen had to admit that the Listener walked with a tiny spring in her step, invisible to someone who wasn't paying close attention. Without offering an explanation for her lateness, she immediately said,

"Alert the Murderers. We attack Lake Arrius Caverns at dawn."

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A/N: There you go! That's the thing no fanfic author has ever done before: made Belisarius, Banus AND Arquen survive Bellamont's attack! That'll be all from Arquen for now. I'm going back to Martin next. Now, this'll probably be the last chapter I put up before my birthday (which is in only three days; SQUEE) so your reviews will be a great birthday present (hint, hint).


	17. Chapter 16: Dreamscape

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I was having problems with my other story and it took my attention away from this. But, yay, great round of reviews! This has got to be the most I've got for one chapter yet! Thanks so much, you guys!

**Ruxio: **Thanks! Please keep reviewing!

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **Well spotted! None of my other reviewers have mentioned Bellamont's fixation with Lenore. This won't be the last you hear of it, I promise you!

**Miss Lieress: **Thanks so much! I really wanted to deliver on the climax so I tried my best. Glad you like it!

**Lily Ariel Black: **I did get the inspiration from the Plagues of Egypt, yes. Like I said to NeverGoodbyeRoxas, this won't be the last you hear of it!

**maskedpainter: **Something tells me that you really like Martin...and singing.

**Ijinzu: **I had a feeling you'd appreciate me making Banus survive.

**deadfinger: **Hi! It's been a long time! Great to hear from you again! And, I'd never thought I'd see the day when I heard someone say that they're glad Arquen survived.

**BloodandDiamonds: **I hope to be able to squeeze more Alleno stuff in soon.

Now, if you thought the last few chapters were spooky and surreal, you ain't seen nothing yet! Enjoy!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 16: Dreamscape**

Once he had entered the Great Hall of Cloud Ruler Temple, he had to bite down the urge to gasp in amazement. The place was enormous, even bigger than the Chapel of Akatosh, with swords lining the rafters above his head that made him half-afraid to walk under them. What astonished him was the style of the place. Everything echoed of Akavir, like he wasn't in Cyrodiil or even Tamriel at all.

He did not stop to stare because he felt it rude and, as said a little voice at the back of his head, it wasn't befitting of an heir to the throne. While he had been journeying with the Listener, the time of quiet had given him an opportunity for these new ideas to sink in. That he was the heir to the throne, the illegitamate son of an Emperor and his dreams had been right.

While he had been riding, he had mulling over other details of the dreams. Like the Listener cutting down the daedra with her two claymores, _Well, that's certainly true._ What about the mourners in the background though? How were they significant? _Cloud Ruler is close to Bruma._ He thought, _Maybe I might see that Nord guard._ The thing that most disturbed him was the presence of Lucien. He hoped against hope that what he had seen him doing would never come to pass.

Now, he moved into the shadows and watched the Listener speaking to Jauffre. He didn't know why he was still hiding from her. One would think that he had become used to her presence with all the travelling they had done together. True, she had not attacked him during their dark journey through the wilderness and the two assassins had long left to send the message to this 'Arquen' that she would visit the 'Sanctuary' soon.

Still, as she put back her hood and accepted the Akaviri Katana Jauffre offered her, an old fear associated with Fort Farragut possessed him. Seeing the liquid fire cascading down past her shoulders brought to the front of his mind the terror of the Dark Brotherhood once again. He swallowed and tried to master himself, hoping no one was looking.

The Listener accepted the katana graciously as Jauffre said, "I am glad to accept you into the Blades, Miss..."

"Lenore." Without any clear reason, her face tightened slightly as though he had said something mildly offensive, "But, please, just call me that. I do not want to be called Miss Lenore. And, I know it is the Breton tradition for men to always be polite to women but I cannot abide Breton humility."

"Oh...well, alright." It was common knowledge that Bretons always addressed women with 'miss' before the name unless they are a close friend. It was considered vulgar not to do do and Jauffre clearly stuck to this, for he looked completely thrown when the Listener said this. Indeed, Martin could not think of any reason why Lenore was so insistant on this. Jauffre soon recovered and said, "Would you like to stay the night here? You must have been travelling all night."

Martin did not like the idea of them sleeping in the same building one bit. He still did not trust her to sneak into his room and drive a dagger into his throat. He wanted to object but could not think up a good reason for it. He was saved the trouble, however, when the Listener shook her head,

"I thank you for your offer but I must decline. There is work that needs to be done and I do not like to rest when there are still things to do. Besides, my guildsister is not a patient woman and will want to hear from me as soon as possible."

"You're right." Jauffre nodded, "When you have dealt with your own matters, you must go to the Imperial City and find Baurus at Luther Broad's Boarding House. He is currently working under cover to find out more about the assassins."

The Listener nodded curtly and added, "When Baurus has finished, you need not send more agents. I will charge my guild with rooting out any sleeper agents in Cyrodiil. They will be very efficient in finding and eliminating them, I assure you."

_Yes,_ Martin thought, darkly, _REALLY efficient. This'll just be another assassination job to them. _Jauffre did not pick up on the dark undertone of this and instead looked very pleased,

"Excellent. That will save us a job. Your guild will not be inconvienced by the extra responsibility, will it?"

"Not at all." She spoke so calmly and graciously that Jauffre suspected nothing but her tone sent chills up Martin's spine and he found himself retreating behind a pillar, trying to keep out of her sight. The Listener turned and pulled up her hood. Before her face disappeared and he ducked behind the pillar again, he caught sight of a pale scar running down her face. He wondered fearfully where she got it. Perhaps at the hands of the Legion when she was being chased. Or some vengeful relative after an assassination.

She reached the door and then stopped. She stood facing the intricately carved wood for a few seconds and then, let out a small, humourless chuckle, "Your Highness, I have no patience for playing hide and seek with you. Come out, approach me. I have no fangs and will not devour you."

Flushing at the realisation that he was caught, he came out from behind the pillar. He cursed himself for having the stupidity to try and hide from her. Of course, she had known he was there. She was trained to pick out a stalker from a long way off. What chance did he stand in a brightly lit, enclosed space with little cover? She turned to him, putting him under her piercing glare once more.

An awkward silence followed. He knew he should say something, probably try and convince her that he hadn't been hiding from her. That he had been...been what, though? His mind was a total blank and it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut instead of babbling out nonsense. In the end, a humourless smile quirked those dark lips,

"Please, do not let my presence unnerve you. Your safety is of top priority in my mind and what man should fear his protector? Good day to you. I will return upon my gaining of the Amulet." And, she was gone. Slipping through the barest crack in the door and shutting it between them with a small _click. _Martin eased himself onto a bench, trying to make the movement look casual.

Now she was away, he could think of a dozen things he could have said to her. He could have explained that he was examining the architecture or leaning against it because he was tired. He had the feeling that these excuses would not work, though. She would probably see right through them and he was never a good liar,

"Your Highness?" Jauffre was at his side, now, and Martin realised with another hot rush of embarassment that he had seen the whole thing. Thankfully, he did not mention it and simply said, "You must be tired from our journey. Let me show you to your rooms."

Martin went up to the Emperor's Suite without saying a word. It was only when Jauffre left for his own rooms that he realised that, not only did he not have any sleeping draughts on him but he had not warned Jauffre about his sleepwalking habit. He decided against asking and instead locked his door and windows. It was only when he slumped down on his bed, fully clothed, that he realised how tired he was. His eyes closed on their own and, sure enough, the nightmare came.

The scene unfolded like all the others: the Dark Brotherhood, Lucien and the Listener. Not to mention the daedra, bodies and mourners. He watched hopelessly, as he always did, as the chaos rioted around him. Suddenly, a light appeared at his left, distracting him from the terror enough to make him look round. The now familiar figure of the Emperor and, it seemed so strange to think of it, his father was beside him.

Now that he looked, he noticed similiarities between them: not just the eyes but the hairstyle and jawline. The Emperor looked out onto the scene and shook his head, "Again, you dwell too much on baseless terrors to see the beauty within. Come, you have seen this far too many times and there are other things that require your attention."

Martin leapt at the chance to escape the horrible scene and took the offered hand without hesistation. As soon as he was guided away from the nightmare, everything changed. All sound ceased, everyone vanished apart from him and the Emperor. Destruction was replaced by calm and it took Martin a while to adjust to the new tranquil place.

They stood before a great hill, as high as a mountain, standing out against the midnight blue sky. Martin could pick out dainty purple heather and bright orange tiger lilies adorning the place despite the lack of light. A beautiful scene and he could not help but relax at the sight. It was indeed a welcome change from the usual horror. He turned to his father, intent of thanking him for bringing him here but the words stuck in his throat when he saw the older man frowning, as though the sight displeased him. He didn't wait long to find out why,

"Many have viewed this place and never concerned themselves with venturing far into it. Only I have dared to delve into it. You yourself stopped early on in your journey while I have continued to its very core. You shall accompany me to the heart of this place. What you see shall be great ruin and tragedy but all must be heeded."

"What journey?" Martin managed to ask, at last, "I've never been here before."

"You have." His father's bright blue glare, so like the Listener's stare, was turned on him, making him half-believe what he was hearing, "But you have seen it in another form. Look there, to the peak." Following his father's pointing finger, his eyes lifted to the top of the hill. It was far away but he could still see an outline of two objects close together,

"Sword hilts?" He suggested aloud, to a nod from his father,

"Yes. Come. There is much to see. Tread with care and courage. What you see here will change lives and futures."

His companion led him confidently towards the hill and Martin thought for a moment that they were going to attempt to climb it. Then, the Emperor came to a veil of morning glory vines that he had not noticed until now. Pushing them aside, he stepped into the dark passage beyond. Martin attempted to follow...and felt his heart drop with his feet as the floor disappeared from under him. His father managed to catch him in a surprisingly strong arm and set up on his feet. The older man was holding up a ball of light in one hand, bright white and too steady for a magelight, "How...how do you do that...?"

"If you wish to truly see, you can achieve this. But, beware, should your resolve falter, the light with extinguish."

Certainly not wanting to be left in the dark, Martin held out a hand in the same position his father did and, to his great astonishment, a small spark ignited at his fingertips, turning into a small ball of light. Small, but very bright,

"Good." His father nodded, pleased, "You _do_ wish to see beyond the doorway."

Giving Martin no opportunity for questioning, the old man ventured boldly down the narrow staircase before them. Taking care not to rush (he didn't trust himself not to lose his balance again), he followed. At first, the stone walls (which looked out of place in an earth hill) were blank and featureless. Their colour reminded him of the walls of Cloud Ruler temple. Then, strange items hanging on them caught his attention briefly, enough for him to remember them. A Kvatch cuirass, a blood-red hood, an Akaviri katana; he pushed down the urge to examine them because his father made no pause at anything.

Presently, they came to a door blocking the way. A dark door past pools of what looked horribly like blood and the wood bearing a horribly familiar sign of a black handprint. Totally undaunted, his father pushed through the door, stepping past the blood pools and looking over his shoulder as he was about to close it, "I can open no doors for you. You must open them yourself. This is as far as you have ever ventured, always turning back in fear every time you approached."  
He still had no idea what his father was talking about but, when the door closed between them, he could see why. The symbol of the hand seized him with a cold fear associated with the Dark Brotherhood alone. Still, a rebellious part of him he never knew he had was more valiant and, after a short pause, spurred him to push the door open. His father was waiting patiently on the other side and, as soon as the door had closed with an ominous click, continued on.

Down and down, they went. His father was incredibly sure of his path which amazed Martin no end. For more strange things occured during their journey. Instead of items, pictures hung on the stone walls so vivid and lifelike that he felt tempted to touch them just to check that they were not real. Some even moved a little, acting out scenes like the most fluid puppet show he'd ever seen. They passed all of them too quickly to have a proper look at them.

Once or twice, he was convinced that he saw dark shapes dart out in front of them as they descended. Or could it have been the strange tattered fabric hanging from the ceiling like so many veils? He nearly lost his father and his footing in them. Some black, some white, some stained with blood. How the old man could not be distracted by the pictures or be lost in the veils was amazing.

In addition to this, the path forked in various places. Each door looked different at each junction. One was always plain with some basic symbols and the other, more forboding, darker with more stark and frightening pictures upon them. Though Martin always wished that they could go through the plain doors, his father unfalteringly picked the dark doors. When asked, he explained that, "Those doors lead to false paths, constructed by its maker to lead others from the core."

So, they went on. Martin began to lose track of time. He did not know how far they had gone underground but it felt like miles. Nor did he have a clue of how long they had left to go. His father just led him on through the strange passage without the merest pause into the darkness.

Then, it became lighter, illuminated by some unseen dim red light. The steps became less steep, flattening the path ahead. Another pair of doors stood in their way. This time, the doors were almost identical. Both were dark and forboding, neither looked appealing. The difference was that each had a different name painted on it in red paint (or was it blood?). The left bore the name 'Lenore' and the right, 'Lavinia'. Recognising the name, Martin took a step towards the 'Lenore' door but his father pulled him back with a frown, "Do not be fooled."  
"Another false path?" Martin asked, puzzled,

"The final false path." The older man nodded, "The core is through this door." With the same stalwart confidence he had shown all the way down here, he pushed open the door. Martin passed through, wondering for the first time what all this meant. The names, the pictures, the hill and the very passage in which he stood? He had no time or concentration to wonder for long, though. What was before him was enough to steal his attention. This passage, instead of the dark stone of the previous one, was lined with long, even, horizontally placed logs like the cabins of Bruma but all was ablaze.

The fire licked the walls, ceiling and floor; terrifyingly fast and thick flames almost blinded him after the little light of the dungeon before. Astonishingly, his father was not swayed even by this. He strode through the flames as though they were never there. Even more astonishingly, the flames did not affect him. Not even the fur on his robe so much as singed by them.

Martin gulped and stepped into the flames. He passed through them as though he were a ghost. The flames never even touched him, let alone burned him. Objects obscured by the fire knocked against his feet. Reaching tentatively down, he found the hilt of a broken dagger and a few paintings with cracked frames. The first one was of a dark-haired Nord holding a tiny, flame-haired Dunmer girl of about five or six to his chest. Clearly the Listener as a child. The others he picked up all depicted her, sometimes alone and sometimes with friends. A younger, happier version of the Listener.

Always, she wore a dazzling smile he never thought her capable of, revealing a set of straight, rather sharp-looking teeth. Though he knew it was the same person, it was so hard to believe by looking at the pictures. Her eyes were alive, her hair was tied off her very visible face and she looked much more approachable.

And, there was no better word for it, rather pretty. Or, as pretty as a Dunmer could be.

He had no time to examine them carefully, though. Again, his father would not stop, though he slowed a little for his benefit. However fleeting the glance was, the image managed to imprint itself on Martin's memory. The image of the Listener's smiling face burned as brightly as her hair in his memory, clashing spectacularly with his existing view of her.

The flames faded as a final door loomed up before them. A final dark door with a heavy-looking latch; his father opened it without fear and the passage opened up into a wide, circular room so high that the ceiling was completely invisible in the darkness. Two enormous blades ran down from the ceiling; one the bright silver of an elven sword, the other the dark black of ebony. Both held open a long crack in the stone which split the room in half. His father made for this and so did he. Looking down over the edge, he gave a cry of amazement.

The gap was full to the brim with still, flat blood and, floating on the surface, was the unconscious figure of the Listener. She wore only a torn white dress, ripped above her knees and leaving her arms bare. Her purplish skin was dark with bruises, slashes and burns and a dark trickle of blood ran down her chin from her dark lips. Her hair, once so lurid, was as torn and ruined as her dress. There were no signs of life but Martin knew she was not dead. She was as good as, in his opinion, though. The battered broken form was a mere shadow of the foreboding Listener, suddenly fragile and shattered before him. His father beside him was more grim than ever,

"Within this fortress, she lies. And, within this fortress, she suffers. She constructed this place herself as a guard but it has turned upon her, as it was doomed to."

"Can she ever recover?" Martin wondered aloud,

"Perhaps. That task is yours." He turned his penetrating gaze upon his son, making Martin wonder whether he was capable of doing that, "Will you save her?"  
Before he could ask what he could do to save her, movement behind him caught his attention. From the door they had just come from, three people entered. Two female Altmers and one male Dunmer. One Altmer which he had a feeling he had seen before wore a Dark Brotherhood-like robe, the other a simple mage's robe. The Dunmer, on the other hand, wore armour and looked the most frightened. When he looked back, he gasped in horror.

Shadowy at first then bursting into clarity, faces appeared in the blood, stirring the flat surface with their movement. Dead faces with blind eyes and reaching hands. Though there were many, three stuck clearly in his mind. One gaunt, inhuman face with sharp vampire fangs protruding from his top lip. Two were almost identical; one the hauntingly familiar dark face of Lucien, the other was his mirror image except for his paler skin.

Hands began to emerge from the surface like a gruesome parody of shoots emerging from the earth, making Martin's stomach turn as they began to grasp Lenore. Still, she gave no signs of life, no signs of wanting to get away. The hands gripped securely and began to pull her down from her resting place on the surface.

Panicking at the sight of her being slowly enveloped by the sickening pool, he reached over the edge and grabbed the hands still untouched. He fully expected the figures to grasp harder and pull her down out of his reach. On the contrary, they relinquished her. Some even had a complete change of heart and pushed her back out.

More hands appeared and the newcomers were at his side at once. The Dunmer grasped her waist, while the mage handled her legs and the other Altmer supported her head. At last, Lenore came free of the dreadful pool, looking worse than ever. A small splash made him look up in time to see Lucien emerge from the liquid, his eyes now dark and seeing. He reached for Lenore and touched her face delicately, hesistantly, as though fearing that his touch would harm her further.

In an instant, the scene changed again. Martin blinked against the bright sunlight and looked around. They seemed to be on a sort of island in what looked like Niben Bay. He thought he could see Bravil a little way into the distance. When he looked back, Lenore was lying on what looked horribly like a marble mortuary slab. Lucien was by her side, clutching her hand as though it was his own mother lying there. The other three stood a little way off, watching her. The image, though filled with so many foreboding and frightening figures, made sympathy and sadness throb within him.

He then caught sight of three figures on the short. His father and two hooded figures. He recognised them as the vampire and Lucien's double from the pool. At first, he thought that they were about to capture her again and he moved a little towards Lenore, intent of protecting her if they came closer. Indeed, there was a look of frustrated longing in Lucien's double's eyes, as though he wanted her but he could not have her. At last, he spoke, in a slow deliberate voice to match Lucien's, "You may approach, Dragonborn. Heal her."

Confused again, he approached her side. A strange thing happened as he did so. He did not hesistate. No twinge of old fear possessed him. No longer did he see her as the Listener, a feared professional killer, but as Lenore, a damaged and, dare he say it, beautiful girl. Now, he realised her beauty, even though she was soaked with blood.

Carefully, not quite knowing why he thought this would do any good, he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. Amazingly, all her imperfections vanished. The blood disappeared, the damage healed, her dress became as long and clean as a bridal gown and her eyes opened. A brilliant smile, matching the face in the paintings, spread across her face and she threw her arms around him.

It was then that Martin woke to the sound of knocking. At first, he was completely disorientated, not knowing where he was or where Lenore had gone. Then, he realised that he was back in Cloud Ruler Temple, having just woken. Pulling his hair out of his face and straightening his robes, he crossed to the door and carefully slid it open, not trusting the fragile paper not to rip at his touch,

"Ah, Your Highness!" Jauffre was at the door, now wearing armour he had only seen worn by the Blades and now looking just like he had in Martin's dream, "Lunch is ready downstairs if you're hungry."  
Martin nodded stupidly and allowed Jauffre to lead him down the very real corridor to the Great Hall. He was still expecting his father to appear any minute and tell him to get back to Lenore. It was when he was sitting down when he finally manged to convince himself that it was all just a dream, like all the others, _At least I didn't sleepwalk this time._

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A/N: I think this has got to be Martin's weirdest dream yet, don't you?


	18. Chapter 17: The Mysterium Xarxes

A/N: I lost the first draft of this again so I had to do it all very quickly. I'm surprised I even managed it. This'll be the last chapter I do before I go on holiday. I will be able to take my laptop with me this time so I probably will have another chapter done when I get back. Or two. Just depends I how bored I get.

**Miss Lieress: **If you think life hasn't been kind to Lenore, you ain't seen nothing yet, trust me!

**maskedpainter: **Mind if I join you in worshipping Martin?

**The Lone Eagle: **Like I said to Miss Lieress, if you thought that was confusing, you ain't seen nothing yet!

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **Yep, that was a festival of symbolism. Just, symbolism all over the place. It was great fun!

**deadfinger: **I managed to actually update more quickly this time. I'm proud of myself!

**BloodAndDiamonds:** Ah, I can't give anything away now. By the way, my last review was too short. I pressed the submit button prematurely. Sorry!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 17: The Mysterium Xarxes**

While Martin whiled away the days hidden away in Cloud Ruler Temple, Lenore became more and more famous. Her nickname of the 'Hero of Kvatch' had caught on and now, everyone was using it. Then again, this was probably because very few people knew her name. Cyrodiil reeled in the revelation that, while their trusted guards and even Legion could fail against the forces of Oblivion, one unknown could push them back single-handed.

She was now a wandering adventurer, diving into every Oblivion gate she came across and often leaving only a smoking skeleton with a few scattered daedra bodies behind as the only proof she'd been there. Lenore never seemed to stay in one place for very long. Not even long enough for the villages around her to properly thank her. As soon as her work was done, she would move on, with only her horse to keep her company.

All sorts of stories about her were trickling into Cloud Ruler Temple with the deliveries of the Black Horse Courier, which Jauffre had taken to receiving after so many years of refusing it, "We need to keep track of what's going on more than ever now." was his excuse. It amused him greatly when he read in one edition that a rumour was going round about Adamus Phillida trying to induct Lenore into the Legion but she had apparently very vehemently refused, saying she hated the Legion,

_Of course, she would. _Martin had thought, entertaining for a moment the possibility that it was true, _A Dark Brotherhood assassin would never want to join her enemies. It must have given her a real shock when he asked her. _It seemed astonishing to him that Adamus Phillida, captain of the Legion and outspoken enemy of the Dark Brotherhood, would give a place in his soldiers for a high-ranking assassin.

Still, it was only a rumour.

The most reliable source of information was Baurus, who arrived about ten days after Lenore's departure. He was the Blade from his dream: a young Redguard with very sharp eyes. Not that he had a piercing stare like Lenore but he gave the impression that he saw more than other people. Jauffre told him that Baurus had been the only surviving Blade out of the three that accompanied his father before his death and had been rooting out Mythic Dawn agent with Lenore.

Now, the Mythic Dawn was common knowledge in Cyrodiil. It seemed that Lenore, not only thwarted their secret plans, but exposed their enemy, who until now had been a very secretive daedric cult. According to Captain Steffan (an Imperial Blade who organised the gate watch), this was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, people were on the lookout for people acting strange. On the other hand, it would drive most Mythic Dawn agents underground, making them harder to find.

Though, according to Baurus, Lenore was now working on finding their secret hideaway so, soon, they probably wouldn't have a place to hide. He found himself talking to Baurus often during the long days he spent reading in the Great Hall. Seemingly to make up for letting the Emperor die, he stuck to Martin like glue, _So, this is what it's like to have a personal bodyguard._ He thought, amusedly, as he caught Baurus on the other side of the room sixteen days after Lenore had left.

He wondered what Lucien would think of all this. He could imagine him now with his eyebrows raised and his head to one side, saying, "_You, the heir to the throne? Well, this is quite a surprise. Let's hope you do not allow this to get to your head though. I will not abide you ordering me around like a servant._"

_I wouldn't do that._ Martin thought back. The imaginary Lucien glanced at Baurus,

"_He would certainly expect you to. They clearly try to see your father in you and impose that upon you. A rather stupid thing to do, really. Just because they made one mistake._" There was a small silence. Then, the imaginary Lucien's lips quirked up into a small smirk, "_Your father was a rather conniving man, don't you think? To keep a son out of the way in reserve just in case something like this happened._"

_Yeah. I suppose that's all I am, really. A back-up bastard child just in case the worst happens._ It was a depressing thought but it felt good to think it, especially to the imaginary Lucien, who scoffed at his thought and added,

"_I wonder how many other Emperors did the same. The Septim line may not be as select as people are led to believe._" He gave a sigh and sat down on a seat just as imaginary as he, "_These are insane days we live in. Where humble priests of destroyed towns became mighty Emperors, the strong soldiers everyone depends on became base cowards and heartless assassins that all fear became revered heroes._"  
_You said it. Insane._ Martin nodded, thinking of all the chaos rioting outside those walls. Then, with a small smirk himself, he thought back, _You never know. You could be the offspring of one of the Elder Council. Or even, my half-brother._

Lucien actually laughed at this, "_Brother Martin, do not let the insanity of these times infect you. Even if I was, I doubt they would even know of my existance. My mother only abandoned me because I was in the way of her work and precious time. At least, your father had good intentions._"

_Do you ever think about them at all?_ Martin wondered to the imaginary Lucien, who replied with another scoff,

"_When have I ever? You should stop thinking about this Lenore as well. The answers are right in front of you: my mother was a careless harlot. Lenore is a hero who moonlights in the trade of assassins. A simple enough explanation. She is on your side for now and I do think you should be grateful for such a strong, unique ally. Though, if you are still wary, you could always sleep with a padlock on your door and windows._" He added, with a trace of soulless mirth,

"Your Highness! There you are!" A voice cut into their imaginary conversation and, in the face of a distraction, the envisioned Lucien faded away. Rather irritated at this, he faced Jauffre,

"Yes?"

"Here. I don't think I've given you today's Black Horse Courier."  
"Let me guess. Another article about Lenore." Martin said, rather gracelessly. Jauffre looked a little hurt but said nothing about it,

"Yes. Her greatest achievement yet, I'd say. Not only did she close an Oblivion gate outside Cheydinhal but she also got the Count's son out of there."

Martin was handed the paper and he read through it. Reading through the over-praise of the 'brave boys' at the Knights of the Thorn, he found out that the Count's son, Farwil, had been practically unhurt but she had been badly injured when the gate was closed. She had been healed by the Castle Cheydinhal healer and attended a banquet in her honour. There were few details though, as the Count had denied the reporters any access for an interview from her and would not give anything away himself.

The most interesting piece of information came from Jauffre. A little rumour that he had got from the delivery man, "I don't know if it's true but some people say that Lenore knew young Farwil before this Oblivion crisis. She apparently appointed herself as his tutor in swordsmanship and has taught him for two years."  
This was baffling to Martin. To have an assassin become a hero was one thing but teaching a Count's son swordsmanship. It was a risky thing to do at best. What if the Count found out he had been letting someone of the Dark Brotherhood into his house on a regular basis? Did this Farwil even know who she was? A horrible thought then struck him. Was she really teaching him swordsmanship...or how to commit murder?

_No, no. That's impossible._ He told himself, _He's a Count's son. He'd never do anything like that._ Still, why would a clearly high-ranking assassin condescend to teaching an amateur knight the way of the sword? The pair were the most unlikely friends he had ever heard of and so strange of her, _Then again, so is closing Oblivion gates just because she's passing by._

There were too many baffling thoughts in his head. To try and take his mind off some of them, Martin put down the paper and picked up a book on early Reman Cyrodiil. He found himself just staring at the pages though, not really taking in a word upon them. He was just staring at the same page for hours. Instead, the more potent mysteries pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind.

Like, Lucien's double that kept appearing in his dreams. He could imagine telling Lucien about this, who would raise an eyebrow and say, "_Exactly like me, you say? No differences in appearance?_"  
_No difference in voice, either. Except that his face was pale. He was an Imperial, not a half-Dunmer. Lucien,_ He added, on a thought, _I've been seeing my father in this dream. Do you think this man could be yours? Do you think I might get the chance to meet him?_

The imaginary Lucien was stricken by this idea. Then, his face darkened, "_If you do, do not mention me. I doubt he even knows of his bastard-born son. My harlot mother probably never told him about me. I suppose it put the clients off._"

_You never know,_ Martin pointed out, _He could be a decent sort._

"_A decent sort who delves into a brothel most likely on a regular basis? That is a very ridiculous idea indeed._"

_It could just be a one-off._

"_You're thinking rather positively today, Brother Martin. In any case, if you do, I have no desire to meet him. Keep that in mind._"

_Alright, alright. Anyway, what do you think of these dreams?_

Lucien picked up an imaginary apple and nibbled it as he gave it some thought, "_Well, they certainly are unique. My role in them is rather strange, as is yours. If indeed he is your father, it is admireable of him to invade your sleep after death._"  
_Better than the old nightmare._ Martin shrugged, _A better ending._

Suddenly, a hand appeared in front of his face, makin the imaginary Lucien fade away again, "Your Highness?" More irritated than ever, Martin turned to Jauffre, "Are you alright? You seem very quiet."

"I'm fine." Martin said, offhandly, "What time is it?"

"Past midnight."

"Right." Martin stood up, giving up having imaginary conversations with Lucien, "I'm going to bed. Good night."  
"Good night, Your Highness."

By now, Martin was now thoroughly desensitised to being called 'Your Highness'. Before, it had felt so unreal. He supposed now he was getting used to the idea of being the heir to the throne. Once he got to his room and closed the door, he flopped down onto the bed fully clothed and put an arm over his eyes. In the darkness, he tried to clear his head.

He had never thought about Lucien as much as he had now. Did he really miss the boy that much that was resorting to imagining him there? _First sign of madness, talking to things that aren't there._ A nasty little voice said in his head. It wasn't the first time that he felt he was going mad,

"Stand, my son."

Martin shot up at the familiar voice. At first, he thought something was wrong with his eyes. Everything around him was so blurred that he barely recognised his own rooms. What was clear though were three figures close to the door. He recognised the robe-clad Emperor, which was a more comforting sight compared to his two hooded companions.

One was the gaunt-faced vampire from his dreams wearing a trailing blood-red cloak, obscuring all but his face. A few strings of deep red jewels hung around his neck, glimmering dully as though tiny dying will o'th'wisps were trapped inside. The other was more formidable-looking. Though dressed in simple black, he gave off a distinct aura of ill feeling. His face was almost as gaunt as the vampire's, though distinctely human, and hauntingly familiar. It was Lucien's double,

"Warmest greetings to Your Highness." The vampire inclined his head courteously, speaking in a refined Breton-accent, "I am glad to see you awake."

"So, here we find you. I wonder why Sithis would see fit to keep a ragged whelp like you alive." Lucien's double sneered, sending a little chill up Martin's spine. Indeed, the temperature seemed to have dropped significantly since they had appeared. The Emperor came forward to greet him,

"Do not fear these men. They will aid us in our venture tonight. Or, shall I say, yours?"

"Mine?" Martin repeated, "What do you mean?"

"Our friend is in danger. The Prince of Destruction is close to claiming her. Come, quickly. She lies outside these walls." They turned and headed for the door. As bewildered as he had been when he went down into the dungeon, Martin hurriedly threw on a fur robe and boots, pulling up the hood against the inevitable cold outside before following,

"Who are they?" He asked his father, as they went down the dark, blurred corridor, now barely recognisable,

"In life, they were followers of Sithis. Both died accused of crimes they did not commit and were elevated to positions of authority."

"I am the Bloodguard." The vampire said, on cue. Martin noticed that his cloak was not so much blood-red as covered in blood. His stomach turned as he saw the damp cloth make a dark trail behind him like a snail, "I guide the souls of our fallen brothers to their place in the Void. He is the Obsidia." He added, since the other showed no signs of wanting to talk, _Like Lucien._ Martin thought, "He watches over the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood and especially the Listener." Then, he gave a smile that might have been friendly had it not contained fangs, "But, I think that's more of his choosing rather than his duty."

The Obsidia gave the smallest of scowls but said nothing. He walked a little ahead, making it clear that he did not want to talk. He was so like Lucien that it was almost frightening. He almost felt like saying the name aloud to check his reaction but the dark atmosphere the Obsidia created prevented him from even opening his mouth. He noticed that something was trailing from under his cloak. Ends of white, blood-stained linen strips. The Obsidia saw him looking and Martin jerked his eyes away.

As he passed, the blurry lights extinguished and the place became even more indistinguishable. Dark figures swam around the place but, when they got close, the Bloodguard would push them back with a strong arm which seemed to come out of nowhere from his cloak.

Soon, they were out into cold air which Martin supposed was the outside. He couldn't really tell. More dark figures that he could still not identify came towards them and each was intercepted by the Bloodguard, "I have to admit," He said cordially to Martin's father, "your bodyguards are very quick on the uptake."

The Emperor merely nodded. As they descended down a set of blurred steps, Martin asked him, "Why are they with us?"

"They share their concern for the girl." He said, shortly, "Through her involvement, Sithis and Akatosh shall become temporary allies in this crisis."

Martin's mouth fell open. He could not think of a single word to say that would properly convey his shock of these words. Sithis and Akatosh uniting? An unholy god of murder and the almighty Divine of Time? His shock clearly showed on his face because the Bloodguard chuckled,

"I knew you would react like that. Your reactions never fail to disappoint me."

"May I remind you, Brother," The Obsidia's voice was low, barely audible among the incomprehensible babble of noise increasing around them, "that, just because we are allied with them for the moment does not mean we have to treat them like friends."

"Come now, dear Brother! I was only being polite."

A wind thrust the hem of Martin's cloak to the right and he bowed his head against it, "Where are we going, exactly?" He asked,

"You never stop asking questions." The Bloodguard sighed, "Perhaps it's high time you started looking for answers yourself rather than relying on the word of other people."

The Obsidia led them down the mountain and, as they walked, Martin saw a strange shadow moving in the distance between Cloud Ruler Temple and the dark shape he guessed was Bruma. This was not blurred like the rest but as clear as the group were. And they were making a beeline straight for it. As they did, the Bloodguard's face darkened,

"Our sister is there." He said, as a way of explanation,

"Let us hurry, then." The Emperor nodded.

The Obsidia sped up without prompt, gliding across the snow as though on wheels. Martin had to jog to keep up and prayed that he didn't tread on any ice. They reached the bottom of the mountain with little problem and soon, the path flattened. Babbling voices could be heard behind him and he could see a shadowy figure following them. The Emperor turned him back to the shadow, "Pay him no heed."

He now approached whatever it was. It looked strangely like live black cloth wrapping itself around something in a sort of cocoon. Frowning, he looked all around it, trying to determine where it was coming from but nothing. His father was by his side, looking grim. The Bloodguard was keeping away the shadowy figure that was now trying to approach it. The Obsidia, now more alive than he had ever seen him, was by the cocoon, looking down upon it with unmistakable panic on his face,

"We have little time. Do not stand there staring, Dragonborn! Take her up!"

Jumping at the order, Martin carefully slid his arms around the cocoon and took it up in his arms. It was a dead weight in his arms and he had trouble moving back up the hill. Continued orders from the Obsidia to hurry up did not help matters. More shadowed figures danced around them, seemingly trying to get close but all were intercepted by the Bloodguard, to which Martin was extremely grateful for doing so.

They came back to what he supposed was the Great Hall, where even more of those strange shadows flitted around the place. He was tempted to ask who they were but bit his tongue before the words came out as the Bloodguard got to more work. He traced a circle with his finger, which trailed more blood from it as though it had been cut. With it, he drew a strange, complicated-looking spell-circle upon the floor and the Obsidia impatiently motioned Martin to place the cocoon. He seemed now extremely agitated and snapped easily at him.

The Emperor stood beside Martin, patiently watching the work being done. He turned to his son and at last began to explain properly, "Listen, you know the Mysterium Xarxes? The book that Mehrunes Dagon handed down to Mankar Camoran?"

"Yes." Martin nodded. He had read about it during his time in daedra worship. He had not read too deeply into it but he had found out enough to know its dangers to people who were ill-experienced in handling such things,

"The Listener has stolen that book when Mankar Camoran escaped to his Paradise and has been travelling with it in her possession this night."  
"By the Nine!" gasped Martin. The dangers of a single touch were enough to make him stay away but she had been with it for hours, perhaps the whole night...

"Indeed. This spell will open its grasp for a moment but only for a moment. In that time, you must pull her back from the grasp of Mehrunes Dagon. You have some knowledge of how to do this, I understand?"

"Yes, I think so." Martin said, carefully, calling to mind everything he had read about the dreaded book. It affected the mind more than the body, tempting the soul into Dagon's hands by using desireable illusions. Like creating the image of a long lost love before someone who was bereaved. He just had to make her turn her back on it but how to delve into her mind? And, even if he managed it, there would still be terrible side effects.

The Obsidia was now uttering incantations and the Emperor pushed him forward towards the cocoon. Martin thought he saw the strange dark cloth loosening ever so slightly, "You must pull her from the temptations Dagon presents, my son. I have confidence in you to do this. Once she is free of the Mysterium Xarxes, she will be in your hands. Care for her well, for she will depend upon no one else. Go, and may Akatosh guide you."

With a sudden burst of movement, the spell circle activated and the cocoon flew open. There was a bright burst of light and a rushing wind. Everything around him was swept away and he was left suspended in blinding whiteness, not knowing what or where he should go next. Daring to lift his arms from his face (from where they had instinctively thrown themselves before his eyes), he saw something at the end of the light tunnel before him.

Then, all at once, it was over. His feet hit stone and fiery orange light illuminated the place. A circular platform surrounded by battlements. A quick look over them dizzied him. It struck him that they were at the top of White Gold Tower or he supposed he was. He had only ever seen it in pictures and he knew of nothing else so tall in Cyrodiil surrounded by a quiet city.

Remembering why he was here, he quickly glanced around. Immediately, he saw something shadowed against the setting sun. He quietly approached, blessing the orange and black striped blanket that was laid out upon it. Two people were in an embrace so tight that he could see no gap between them. He could instantly pick out Lenore with her bright hair even brighter in the light. The other was a man, an Imperial, with long dark hair. It looked like...but it couldn't be...the Obsidia?

Neither of them seemed aware of him as they seperated. Lenore gazed lovingly into the man's face, an expression that Martin never thought possible of her, as she draped her strangely thin, muscle-less arms around him, "Oh, Lu, I wish this would last forever." She sighed, like a smitten lover from a romantic novel. Again, most unlike her. The man leaned in and gave her a little peck on the forehead,

"Then, give me your soul and it shall."

Martin jolted at the inhuman edge to it. He remembered that sort of voice all too well, having heard it among the screams of the dying Kvatch people. The voice of a Dremora. Lenore didn't seem to notice it and asked, innocently,

"Will it hurt?"

"No, sweet Vini. Just relax and let your soul become mine." The illusion smiled and began to close the gap between them again. His lips became a dark, sickly-looking hue and the idea suddenly came into Martin's head that, if he kissed her, all would be lost,

"No!" He cried, lunging foreward and forcing Lenore out of his grasp, who, in an instant, began to fight against him,

"Let me go! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"What are you doing?" The illusion asked, its voice becoming more and more like a Dremora's though keeping a chilling smooth tone, "Give my wife back, priest, or I shall make you very sorry indeed."

"You heard him, priest!" Lenore was now attempting to punch him in the face, "Get out of here or _I'll_ make you very sorry indeed!"

"What in Oblivion are you-He's not your husband!" Martin demanded back, realising that she probably really believed the illusion and was prepared to overlook any flaws in the deception, "He's trying to trick you!"

"What?" She gave him a look that clearly told him that she thought him mad,

"He is lying, dear Vini." The illusion said, simply, "Come now, my dear one. Let me have you in my arms."

"NO!" Martin yelled, pushing her back as she redoubled her efforts to get past him. He was a little too successful, unfortunately, and they landed in the gap between the battlements. The both of them slipped heart-stopppingly off it and fell into space, down into blackness. All the while, Martin kept a hard grip on her, clutching her so hard that she was in danger of being smothered by his robe. He closed his eyes, ready for the landing that would be surely certain death.

But it wasn't. They kept on falling through darkness. Lenore had stopped struggling now and was still in his arms. Without any idea of what to do next, Martin glanced wildly about, hoping that this would be a sign that he had freed her from the Xarxes' grasp. No such luck, however. In one horrifying moment, they were seperated and she faded into the darkness.

Crying out her name, he tried to reach out for her but was thrown back into something hard and suffocating, squeezing him so tight that he felt his lungs would burst,

"_Foolish priest!_" A voice that make his bones shake with fear, his blood freeze and something that he only connected with hearing Sanguine's words. Maybe, it was dread. A terrible idea seized him; was it Mehrunes Dagon himself speaking? "_The girl is mine! I have other ways of gaining souls that giving them what they desire. Do you actually think that a beggar prince and a few ghosts can prevent my seizing of her? For your audacity, I will make you watch as I make her mine!_"

A light appeared. An eerie green magelight hovering on the floor of an Ayleid ruin. Two people were shadowed against it, their hoods up, sitting around it like campers around a fire. The whole place had an oppressing sort of silence hanging in the air, as though they were deliberately not talking to each other for some reason. Then, one of them lifted their head,

"You can put your hood back, Miss Lenore." It was a Breton but, like the previous illusion, his voice had a daedric tinge, "There is no one to see us."

Lenore put back her hood and brought a glass cup to her lips, sipping it delicately. Her appearance surprised him, for he was sure the other figure had been a boy. There was even dark shadow around her chin, which he soon realised was charcoal when she wiped it off with a handkerchief. The Breton stood up and moved around the magelight, looking rather foreboding though he was feigning courtesy,

"That book Banus found...it was rather well-written, don't you think, Miss Lenore?"

She did not answer. A sort of defiance hung in her silence,

"Yes, its contents interested me most." He went on, as though it was just small talk during a stroll, "It was very much like our situation now." He was now in front of her, glaring down at her with dark eyes. Eyes so dark that they did not look as though they were gazing at her but straight through her. Then, all attempts at politeness were dropped and he knocked the cup from her hands, which smashed on the floor, "_You wrote it, did you not?_"

He grabbed her wrist with a suddenly clawed hand, preventing her reaching a weapon. Martin flailed helplessly in whatever grip was holding him back but, for all the good it did, he might as well not bothered. The Breton continued screaming manically in her face. Martin didn't understand half of them but managed to pick out, "..._I have been cuckolded, betrayed by you, wench, and now you threaten to reveal me!_"

At this, he crunched his hand into a fist and looked as though he was about to hit her. Then, he brought himself back under control and pulled back his own hood, revealing long hair the dark colour of dried leaves tied back in a rather neat ponytail, "Oh, my. I am sorry, Miss Lenore. I seem to have lost myself for a moment. I meant nothing ill that I said of you." He leaned into her face, making Martin's heart stop but his lips only brushed her cheeks, "How can I think ill of you, sweet lady, when I love you? I know your true heart. That Lachance seduced and enforced you into his service but I intend to release you from his influence."

Lenore, clearly disgusted by this advance, stiffened and gave him a good hard smack around the face, making him release her. Something seemed to be wrong, however. She did stand but her legs shook beneath her robes as though they could not bear her weight. Astonished, she snapped her hand to the spilt drink and back to the Breton, who had recovered from the strike and was approaching her again,

"I had anticipated the extent of Lachance's hold of you, even in death. I realise what I must do," The world became suddenly blurred and his voice was going in and out of focus as he curled his arms around her waist, "and how you will possibly resist, being so out of your own mind. So, I had to slip you a little something. It will only last a moment, fear not..."

The world faded into blackness as she slumped in his arms. Everything disappeared and then reappered. Though, Martin half-wished it had stayed dark. A ghastly scene appeared before him. Lenore was lying on a stone bench a little way off from the magelight, her hands tied together with a length of rope that anchored itself around one of the pillars.

It took a little while to realise that she was almost naked and he quickly averted his eyes to glare at the Breton, who straddled her while unravelled a set of tight linen bandages around her chest. His eyes were wild and alight with disgusting desire as he observed her, helpless and bound. She, who was just waking, was slowly beginning to realise her situation. Immediately, she was struggling almost as hard as she had against Martin a few moments before.

In response, the Breton drew a clean steel dagger, which glowed icy blue as it was released, and reached for her hands. Blood soon oozed onto the rope and the bench as he made a swift downward cut between them, effectively slicing both palms open, "Please forgive me, Miss Lenore, for being so forward but I can restrain myself no longer."

Now, the bandages were off and her body was completely exposed. Frightened and self-conscious, she tried to draw up her knees in a desperate attempt to cover herself. The Breton, however, delicately took hold of her ankles and pulled them back down, spreading her legs apart in the process, "I realise how frightening it must seem but it must be done. Lachance has done this to you before, has he not? He did this to you to bring you under his control. Thus, to relinquish it, I must do the same. I realise that I must be terribly intrusive and violent but there is no other way. No other way to make you give me your soul."

With that, he undid his own robes and shrugged them off, leaving them in a dark heap. Now, he was only wearing a pair of leather trousers and Lenore was truly beginning to panic. So was Martin. He had forgotten this was all an illusion and began to believe this was real. He tried to release himself but couldn't. The menacing voice now came from the Breton's mouth,

"_Ah, my most foolhardy enemy, unable to move, trapped by her own fear. Was there ever more beautiful a sight as this?_"  
Martin, now completely losing his head, screamed out Lenore's name. At the first time, she did not look around, making him lose even more of his nerve. If he didn't do something soon, she would be completely at that monster's mercy. The second time, she made to look round but the Breton jerked her head back to him, "_Ignore that. Just concentrate on overthrowing Lachance._" At the third call, though, he tried something different. Taking inspiration from the illusion, he cried, "Vini!" That worked. To his immense relief, she looked around properly. She could see him, that was plain. Her eyes widened and she mouthed something voicelessly which was probably a desperate cry for help.

Then, everything became strange. Just like when she had collapsed, everything began blurring. The hold upon him loosened, leaving him fighting his way out and gasping for air. A faint snarl of defeat could be heard, like someone retreating. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened but he was very glad that it was over. The Breton had vanished, along with the Ayleid ruin, the rope and the illusions.

Lenore was left gingerly picking herself up, covering herself awkwardly with her robe. She looked up at Martin and, for the first time, he realised how large they were. They looked like a child's eyes, shining with tears and silently pleading him for help. She seemed so small to him too. Helpless, muscleless, Martin's heartstrings tugged for her. She wasn't the Listener now. Not a feared, heartless killer but a scared girl with too much to deal with on her own.

As everything lightened, he knelt down (doing so slowly, thinking that sudden movements might scare her) and held out his hand. It was about three seconds before she even moved hers. Slowly, like a child approaching a wild animal, she reached out a bleeding hand and touched his fingers. Even more slowly, she extended her reach as the light around them became brighter and brighter.

All at once, she had him in a tight grip and her head was buried in his shoulder. All he could see was the top of a fiery head as the light faded and voices came from all around him,

"Your Highness! _Your Highness!_" Startled at the voice, his head jolted up to see the pale face of Jauffre staring down at him, "Oh, your Highness! Thank the Nine! What on Nirn - what happened?"

As Martin struggled to answer the questions Jauffre posed him, he found Lenore leaning against him as she had in her mind and the Mysterium Xarxes lying abandoned upon the dried spell circle.

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A/N: Whoa, even I had a hard time explaining it in a way that was understandable. I don't know how you guys are coping!


	19. Chapter 18: Hidden Truths

A/N: I've just got back from a canal holiday and, since there's no internet connection, I can get on with my fanfictions to my heart's content. Which is exactly what I did.

**maskedpainter:** Yeah. As if Bellamont needed any more vilifying. Okay, here's the new chapter. Don't go crazy on me.

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas: **It is cute, isn't it? If not, a bit weird.

**The Lone Eagle: **Damn right, he is.

**Lily Ariel Black: **Ah, that's good. I hoped that I'd done it properly.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Oh, there's no fun in me just telling you!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 18: Hidden Truths**

_Martin_

It soon became apparent to him (by the disappearance of his father and the ghosts with the sudden vividness of his surroundings) that he had done all of this in his sleep. Or, at least, in some kind of semi-conscious state. The dark shapes must have been the Blades that had followed him while he walked. It must have given them such a fright to see him just walking out of Cloud Ruler Temple without responding to them.

Just as he was wondering why they didn't try to force him back, he noticed their armour covered with blood, though they were not hurt at all. It became even more clear by the bloody handprint upon Jauffre's cuirass that it was the Bloodguard. So, it had all really happened. Even if the Bloodguard, the Obsidia and his father had been totally invisible, it had all happened.

Lenore still lay, her head buried in his stomach, the only signs of life was her clinging to him. As he gazed down upon her fiery head, the image of the helpless girl conjured itself up before him, blurring his twenty-year-old image of the Listener into something far-off and insignificant. He knew enough about the Mysterium Xarxes to know its lasting effect on its victim. Now, she was the one who needed his help and protection for who knew how long.

Captain Steffan was now cautiously approaching the Mysterium Xarxes, his hand outstretched, "No!" cried Martin, cutting across Jauffre's fretting. Steffan's hand leapt back as though stung, "Don't touch it! It's the Mysterium Xarxes!"

A small ripple went through the Blades. He was glad to know that it was common knowledge enough for them to know how dangerous it was. Summoning all his knowledge of dealing with daedric artifacts, he made to stand. Lenore still clung to him like a frightened child and it took a few moments to haul her up to her feet. Her legs did not seem to be working and nor could he blame her after that.

He weighed his options. After a few moments' deliberation, he decided to take Lenore first. With Jauffre still demanding to know what happened in tow and a staring Baurus tagging behind, he half carried the girl to the West Wing, up the stairs and into his room. Feeling that it would be unwise for her to share accommodation with the Blades, he dumped her onto his bed. Still, she would not let him go. Still, she clung to him as though terrified.

It took about ten minutes of quiet persuasion before she could. Even when she let him go, she stared after him like an abandoned kitten with her large red eyes. He whispered, "I'll be back in a few moments, Vini." She only listened if he called her that, "Just sit there and don't move." When, at last, she had released him, he whispered to Jauffre and Baurus (who hung around the doorway), "Keep an eye on her but don't try to talk to her. The Xarxes might have unhinged her somewhat. I doubt she recognises any of us."  
He left Jauffre looking stricken and Baurus grim, along with instructions to try to research the Mysterium Xarxes and its effects. He was glad to find the innocent-looking pale book in the same place he had left it and some of the Blades were starting to drift back towards their billets. First, he uttered the warding spell he had learned from his time with Sanguine then, carefully, as though it was a sensitive explosive, he picked it up with his fingertips. He immediately felt its dark influence creeping up on him like the leg of an enormous spider, just delicately touching, examining the surface for a good foothold.

The warding spell worked though and it did not go any further than his fingers. But, it would not last for eternity. Keeping a sparse hold upon it, he returned to his room, where he knew there was a small shrine to the Nine concealed in a secret wardrobe. A perfect place to hide it and contain its demonic power. Though the Xarxes was strong, he was sure that it could not overcome the small shrine.

He had only knew it was there due to his father telling him about it in one of the dreams a few days ago. Sure enough, when he beckoned Jauffre and Baurus out and pulled back the loose wooden back of the wardrobe, there it was. Cautiously, he placed it in the small indent upon the red diamond. A tense few seconds followed, where he waited in terrible anxiety until, with a tiny _hiss_, the Xarxes glowed white and it was overcome.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he closed the shrine, intending to keep it well away from Lenore. Lenore herself was sitting on the bed, watching him with rather wide eyes like a little owl. Her hood was hanging from her neck, still holding onto the tips of her hair. She looked so - it was so strange to think it - frail. Even the muscle on her arms didn't look as bulky as they once did. In fact, he never knew how pinched her waist was until now. Then again, he hadn't had a good look at her before.

The candles paled as a flame appeared on the horizon. It was morning already; the calm after the great events of the night was settling. It was then that he realised that her swords were gone. This made him both glad and worried. She seemed unarmed which meant she wasn't likely to attack or hurt herself. But, where were they if they were not with her? She never seemed to be without them.

Warily, suddenly remembering the dagger she was hiding somewhere on her person that she had killed the Chorrol sleeper agent with, he crossed the room to her and sat down beside her. All the way, her eyes followed him, as though a string between them and him existed. He wondered, as he sat down, what was going on inside her mind. The Mysterium Xarxes had the power to make people unstable even if it did not render their souls up to Dagon. There was no way of telling what it had done to her. He could have kicked himself for not reading up properly on the subject.

Lenore, as though sensing his worry, slowly and nervously reached out a hand and touched his arm. It was very light, like a butterfly had rested there, and something he would not have thought her thick arms capable of. Her hands felt rather spindly and boney under her gauntletts; he had been told by Baurus that she had a scar upon her palm running from her finger to her wrist. Was this the hand that had it?

_Wait a moment_, Something slid into place in his brain, fitting perfectly with an almost audible click. The illusion that she had experienced in the Ayleid ruin, the Breton had sliced her hands vertically, both of them. Baurus never mentioned one on her other hand but had he seen it? He did mention that it was such a strange-looking scar that could not be made by accident but, possibly, by someone deliberately holding her hand down and running it down.

Experimentally, he slid his hand under hers, feeling the palm for anything under the chainmail. He didn't really expect to find anything since such an old scar would not protrude so much from the skin. But then, he felt something. A section of skin that was remarkably more cold than the rest. No, not just cold. A freezing line running from finger to wrist. The dagger did glow pale blue, the telltale sign of a frost enchantment. This, he thought, must be it. Realising that Lenore was not reacting badly to this, he checked the other one. Sure enough, he felt the cold strip across her hand, like a sliver of ice.

A terrible feeling settled in his stomach at the thought that the vision was very likely to have been real. Suddenly, her insistance on Jauffre showing her none of the Breton courtesy made sense. Being called 'Miss Lenore' probably reminded her of it. The scene, like so many other awful things before, froze itself in his memory and terrible possibilities began occuring to him.

The vision had been slightly flawed with talk of giving up her soul to him and Martin's interference by making her draw her attention away, _Ah, now, there's the thing._ He had interferred, it had been stopped. She had been alone in that Ayleid ruin with him; an isolated place where only adventurers and criminals entered. The likelihood of people rescuing her were so remote...He felt as though his stomach was clenched in an iron grip. So, if someone had not wandered in and rescued her...what had happened then?

He swallowed, starting to feel sick. Bretons were meant to be the most courteous race, Altmer being a close second. Something of this nature was absolutely...disgusting. Jauffre would be mortified that one of his race would do such a thing and the name of Breton humility shamed forever if it became common knowledge. But, of course, it wasn't. Lenore was probably so mortified and ashamed herself that she had not told anyone about it. He knew that victims of such an ordeal rarely did.

His curiousity was heightened but he dared not ask. She would not want to talk about it, let alone in this state. Instead, he contented himself with pondering who that awful Breton was. As he seemed to recall, he was wearing the same black robes as she, the sort he associated with the Dark Brotherhood. Was he then part of the Brotherhood? He was clearly insane enough if he was fooling himself enough to think she loved him.

_Of course, he's one of them._ Martin thought, darkly, and he wondered if it was common practise among them. Not that he would put it past them but, among their own kind? He had heard about honour among thieves but among assassins? Then again, she had showed respect to her underling assassins at Weynon Priory but was that just her?

He was distracted momentarily by something tickling his face, like a many-legged insect crawling slowly across it. Glancing round, he saw something bright orange against his cheek and it took him a rather foolish moment to realise it was her hair. She was leaning upon his shoulder as though exhausted. The morning light filtered through the window, setting her hair on fire as it had in the first illusion. It only just struck him then that he had been sitting there for about five minutes, holding her hands, and nothing had happened.

Twenty years ago, he would have never dreamed of this happening. Neither would he have dreamed of doing what he did next. Thinking of how much she had suffered and kicking himself for ever thinking badly of her, he prised his hands out of her grip and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. In his opinion, no one deserved what she had gone through.

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When she had fallen asleep, he left her in the care of two female Blades: Jena and Caroline. He felt that it was unwise to leave her with male Blades in this circumstance. With a heavy heart, he slid the door closed and went in search for Jauffre and Baurus. It was strange; she had not spoken and he had not spoken to her since he had secured the Xarxes. Yet, a strong understanding had gone between them that did not need words. His fear of her had completely dissipated now and he felt only sorrow for her. So what if she was an assassin; she had saved him and, now she needed help, it was only right for him to return the favour.

They were sitting at the same table in the West Wing, pouring over a great pile of books that was in great danger if toppling if the table was moved suddenly. Jauffre (Martin could not look a Breton in the same way now) looked up and sprang up. Sure enough, the books toppled onto Baurus' lap and onto the floor with a loud thumping and scraping of paper on wood,

"Oops! Sorry, Baurus! Your Highness, we have found something on the Xarxes here - are you alright?" One thing he had noticed about Jauffre was that he was very observant of other people's emotions and Martin, being so bad at lying or repressing his feelings, was probably a very easy person to read, "You look rather pale."

"What have you found on the Xarxes?" Martin insisted, in no state to attempt a good lie,

"Well, there's something here on the account of someone who was pulled back from its influence. Here, below the illustration of the book." Martin took the book and scanned the page. It did indeed involve a powerful ritual and making the victim look away from the illusions was key to retrieving them. All things that were familiar to him. His heart sank as his suspicions were confirmed; the illusions did play out real events, drawing on real memories of the victim. In the few cases there were over the years, the most common were pleasurable memories, with the most terrible at a close second,

_So, what I saw was the best and the worst of her memories._ Martin thought. In the silence, Jauffre commented,

"It does say that the effects are not permanent, thank Talos, though they can last up to two months. It all depends on the person."

"There is one indication of how long it lasts, though." Baurus cut in, picking up a set of notes, "According to that book, it can depend on the personality of the person. Here, it says, 'the effect of the Xarxes is to turn a person inside out'. I think that means that things a person represses come to the front of the mind. So, if she's someone who represses things a lot, it could last a long time."  
"I do believe she may be that sort of person." Jauffre put in, "This bodes ill for her and the Empire. What I'd like to know is why she had the Xarxes in the first place."

"She didn't have the Amulet in her possession." Baurus theorised, "Maybe the enemy got away and she thought that might lead us to him."

"The Xarxes does describe a ritual to Mankar Camoran's Paradise." Martin added, remembering something he had read with Lucien once, "If it's alright with you, I would like to take possession of the Xarxes. I know some ways to protect myself from its evil power."  
Thankfully, they did not press him on how he knew those ways, only asking things like 'are you sure'. Martin took some of the notes to read later and returned to his room, conscious of how long he had been gone. As it turned out, he needn't have worried. The room was quiet and Lenore was asleep. Dismissing Jena and Caroline after hearing of how quiet she became when he left, he took a seat beside her.

The curtains were drawn, filtering soft red light through them. Martin himself was exhausted but he kept his eyes open. He silently decided that she should use his bed while she was indesposed, as it was the most private quarters in the place. Surely, Jauffre would not mind and it was right next to his room so there was added security.

In an effort to keep himself awake, he riffled through the notes Jauffre and Baurus had made. He could tell the difference by the handwriting: Jauffre's was a neat, curling hand and Baurus' was round and leaning to the right. So, from the information there, he could guess that she would not be her normal self for at least a month. It was very likely that she had regressed to a childlike state and he was right to guess that she did not recognise any of them.

Again, the imaginary Lucien appeared, observing the motionless Lenore with obvious scorn, "_You are the heir to the throne and now, your bodyguard's babysitter. She cannot be so efficient if she fell to this._"  
_Anyone could fall to the power of the Xarxes._ Martin objected, _Even us. We're fortunate she lasted that long or we would not have had the chance to recover her. That's something._

The imaginary Lucien raised an eyebrow, "_Am I jumping the gun, Brother Martin, or do I detect you defending her? You have come a long way from hiding whenever she entered the room to rescuing her from the Prince of Destruction._"

_Well, she saved me from the Prince of Destruction. It's the least I can do to repay her._

"_Oh, is this simply repaying a debt? And, there was me, thinking you had some feelings for her._" It was clear what he was hinting at and Martin felt a little hot around the neck. Lucien casually glanced down her again, "_If she were not so scarred, I would think her quite attractive._"

_It's just one scar._ Martin pointed out, sparing a look at the pale line down her face, _It doesn't look too bad._

Lucien actually chuckled at this, "_You ARE defending her. I do not think this is part of your debt, either._"

Annoyed at his knowing look, Martin turned his face back to Lenore, making the imaginary Lucien vanish again. Her armour lay abandoned on the dresser and she was wearing a long white nightgown, probably on loan from Caroline or Jena. It left her arms bare and clung to her thin figure. This only served to emphasise even more how ill-fitting the muscle on her arms were. As if it didn't need any more emphasis.

The familiar feeling of deja vu took hold of him again. She was not beaten and bloody but the image was still familiar. He was half expecting his father, the Bloodguard and the Obsidia to appear. Or Lucien and the three strangers. Her hair was splayed out across the pillow like a fiery halo and her face was turned upward.

Now that he was thinking about the dream, he wondered vaguely if, like the dream, he could restore her with a kiss. Glancing behind him to check that there was no one to catch him, real or imaginary, he leaned over her. Her hot breath brushed against his cheek, like her hair had done before. Nerves made his insides jitter as though he had swallowed something live and wriggling for breakfast.

His lips were an inch away from hers when he finally lost his nerve. Instead, he just moved up and pressed them against her forehead for a brief moment. Cheeks flushing, he made to draw away. His heart gave a startled leap when her eyes flew open. There was a moment of silence in which Martin grew steadily more hot and Lenore steadily more focused.

Her bare hands raised, touching his face as though she were blind. Martin stayed as still as he could while she did this. His attention was caught by her palms. Sure enough, there were a pale line per hand running from finger to wrist which invoked the same twinge of anger and sadness connected to the knowledge of what caused it.

When she had finished examining him, she had a smile on her face. That bright smile from the dream that he had come to adore. No words were needed between them, not now. It was just something instinctive. His hands found hers, their fingers intertwining lovingly. He noticed a dark birthmark on each wrist; a strange spiky pattern that reminded him of Ayleid war-markings. She looked so good in white. Much better than in black.

She also had slightly lighter birthmarks on her temples, almost entirely covered by her hair. Impossible to see unless one looked closely, in the shape of small wings. He only got a few moments to really observe it as he was distracted by her lips on his.

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_Farwil_

His father would not stop talking about Lenore after the banquet and Farwil was only too happy to join in. A few nights after she had left, they found themselves turning their minds to her again over lunch, "I wonder," His father started, after swallowing a bit of venison, "where she comes from. Where she was born, you know."

"I don't know." Farwil shrugged, as always, "The first time I met her, she told me to pretend she was an immigrant from Morrowind who'd read all the wrong books or something."

"Maybe, she is, then." His father nodded, "I'm rather inclined to think that she came from one of the great houses of Morrowind. Her manners are far too good for a commoner and it's clear that she had a good education. I wonder what made her move to Cyrodiil."

Farwil began fantasising aloud about how she came to Cyrodiil, "Maybe her family fell on hard times and had to move."  
"Or, had a business opportunity, like us."

"Or, perhaps they didn't move at all. She did say she ran away from home."  
"All the way from Morrowind? Don't be ridiculous, Farwil. No one could make that journey on foot."

"She did have her husband to help her." He did not know why but his insides clenched whenever he mentioned her husband, "Remember what she said?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" His father nodded, before popping a piece of carrot in his mouth. Once it had gone, he added, "But, what could make her so desperate to escape, I wonder?"

"Well, teenagers will do anything if they're fired up enough." Ulene theorised from the other side of the table,

"Very true." His father nodded, turning an eye to Farwil, "I know Farwil would have when he was younger."

A small flush of embarassment crept into Farwil's face, "I-I wouldn't have run away." He said, uncertainly. He supposed there were moments when he felt like it but he never would have actually done it. It was a moment before he realised that they were hinting at him charging into the Oblivion gate without thinking. No one was going to let him forget this, he just knew it.

After the meal, he paid a visit to the March Rider, where he had sent his armour to be fixed. Tertia was doing a lot of business since the Oblivion crisis. Weapons and armour were in high demand with the threat of an imminant attack from Oblivion to aid this. Thus, repair of his armour had been delayed twice. Praying that it wasn't about to be delayed again, he went in.

The shop was a bit less crowded than usual, just a few Legion soldiers observing the maces, "Ah, Lord Farwil!" Tertia called from the back door, "You'll be glad to know I've finally got round to fixing your armour."  
"Great!" Farwil grinned, exchanging the pack of steel armour for the price she had asked, "Thanks again."

He was just about to leave when she called him back, "Oh, I almost forgot!" Hurrying around the counter, she pushed a scroll into his hands, "I found this in one of the pockets before I got to work. A good thing I did or it would have been burned to a crisp."

"Oh, right. Thanks." Wondering what on earth the scroll was, he took it in his free hand and hurried back up to Castle Cheydinhal. The Knights of the Thorn were on an unofficial holiday since there was only him and Bremman left. He had put out an advert in the Black Horse Courier for new members but no one had responded yet.

He got up to his room to examine it. Tertia could sometimes leave a few dents unchecked. However, this time, she managed to get everything as good as new, _That's good._ He thought, _I don't want to send it back again. Gods only know how long it would take._ Leaving it in an unceremonious pile on the chair, he turned to the mystery scroll.

It looked very old; the parchment was a dirty yellow, the edges were brown and the dark ribbon tying it up was frayed. He could not think why on earth he would have it in his pocket. He must have had it on him before he went into the Oblivion gate or-

_Wait a moment._ It came to him in a rush. It was the scroll he had found in Lenore's claymore. He remembered putting it in his pocket and he must have forgotten about it. She must realise it was missing now. Did she suspect him of stealing it? A cold rush filled his stomach at the realisation. Of course, he hadn't meant to steal it but who would believe that he had put it in his pocket without meaning to steal it?

Intending to slip it back at the first opportunity, Farwil shoved it in his drawer, as though its very presence would incriminate him to everyone. Trying to take his mind off it, he pulled the window open and surveyed the town. He could see the Newlands Lodge and the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn from his balcony. Riverview was concealed by the row of houses opposite the Fighters' Guild and Mages' Guild. The two maids had vanished without a trace recently and he wondered if they had been called to fight against the Empire as part of their cult. Or, had the Dark Brotherhood finally found them like Lenore had said-

_Damn!_ He grasped a handful of hair in frustration. Now, he couldn't stop thinking about her. The scroll would not leave his mind. After two unsuccessful attempts to push his mind to something else, he finally gave up and opened the drawer again. The roll of parchment was in exactly the same place he had left it, as though waiting for him to come back.

Slowly, knowing with every moment that this was wrong, he undid the loose knot and unfurled it. Upon it was neat, slanting writing with many curls and embellishes.

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_Dearest Vini,_

_If you are reading this now, it is very likely that I am dead. First and foremost, I am so sorry for breaking my word to you and I know you will not be able to forgive me for some time. In the very least, our ring is safe. That, I shall ensure. Though I cannot guarantee that my body shall not be mutilated by the Black Hand, I will do my utmost to make sure it never gets into their hands. I only hope that you shall do the same as its owner._

_By the time you have found this, I hope you have some idea of who the traitor is and that he has proceeded no further in his trail of carnage. I am very confident that you shall deal with him in a suitably painful way for all he has put us through. My only wish is that you use my sword, which I bequeth to you, to strike the killing blow._

_But, away with such sombre matters. Dear Sister, you lit a fire within me (which had nothing to do with your hair before you say it) which could not be quenched. I watched you with a fascinated eye throughout your flourishing career in the Dark Brotherhood and still I was not satisified. Our marriage, our cruelly short marriage, was the happiest time of my life and, when Sithis has taken my soul, I shall comfort myself with memories of that time._

_Alas, how futile it is to put my feelings into words! I fully understand how you felt about that silly little journal I made you keep. I will at least try and I pray you pardon me if I fail. Whether you are Lavinia or Lenore, Silencer, Speaker or even Listener, I shall forever be your faithful husband unto death and the Void beyond._

_Lucien Lachance,_

_Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood_

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Farwil just sat for a moment, staring at the words on the paper. It took even longer for their meaning to penetrate his disbelieving brain. The guild she had spoken of, the one she had been initiated into after she ran away from home, was the dreaded Dark Brotherhood. She was a killer, a cold-blooded assassin, earning her keep by murdering innocent people. That was probably what she ran away from: the law, when she committed her first murder.

The paper creased and scrunched in his tight grip. His disbelief turned to fury. He should have seen it coming; the black robe she always wore, her heartless way of killing and maiming people, _By Arkay, I should have seen it when she cut off Leland's arm!_ All respect for Lenore vanished in that one moment. He held nothing but utter hate for those mindless killers that replaced it.

To think he had been letting someone like that into his house and allowed them to keep on being around him! That he had actually liked that person before! What a fool he'd been! In a fit of anger, he tore the letter into tiny pieces and threw them all out of the window, to be thrown away from him on the wind. The Hero of Kvatch, indeed! What would everyone think if they knew that their beloved champion was a bloodthirsty murderer? "Damn you!" He snarled, as though that traitorous witch was there in the room.

All of it was just a lie. Everything she had told him and had impressed upon him was a lie. She hadn't even told him her real name. She wasn't the gallant hero, Lenore. She was the filthy, Sithis-worshipping murderer, Lavinia, "Curse you!" He growled, aloud, actually wishing she was here now so he could heap all the abuse he longed to throw at her.

His opinion of her had so completely turned on its head. Never had any thought he had ever possessed been so absolutely overturned so quickly. And, it lasted. It did not become milder as the hours went on. His father asked why he was so moody but he would not answer. He tried to engage him When he lay down that night, his mind still buzzed with a thousand hateful thoughts like a disturbed swarm of bees.

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A/N: How about that? Everything's turning on its head! BTW, I've been bitten by the Alvanus bug (Alval/Banus) and a new fanfic about that may appear in the near future. Just keep an eye out.


	20. Chapter 19: The Captain

A/N: Another rather short one. I just wanted a quick one on the present before another big chunk of flashbacks. This one is done by someone you might remember from the earlier chapters: Sylvia!

**NeverGoodbyeRoxas:** Yeah, I suppose it's the one you'd most expect.

**maskedpainter:** Big twist, wasn't it?

**The Lone Eagle: **Martin's such a sweetie, isn't he?

**Lily Ariel Black: **Ah, it's amazing how quickly people change their minds, isn't it? And, I'm glad you're so emotionally involved. It's the sign of a good author.

**Thimbletwix:** And, I like your stuff so far. Some reviews will be coming your way from me very soon!

**deadfinger: **Thanks so much!

**BloodAndDiamonds:** Yep, I really did a U-turn on Farwil's character. I had a great time on holiday. We went to Alton Towers and I went on my very first big roller coaster: Air! Next, I went on Nemesis and then, Spinball Whizzer. We couldn't do anything else because we ran out of the time; Alton Towers is an absolute madhouse in the summer. The world, his wife and his kids seemed to be there. We spent most of our time there queuing!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 19: The Captain**

Sylvia was bored. She had nothing to do since she had killed the Redguard sleeper agent and chased the Dunmer one off. She had left Haecuba (whom the Listener insisted would accompany her) to take care of her but she didn't have high hopes. Her reputation as the worst assassin in the guild preceded her. Yet, the Listener seemed to like her for some reason,

_How can she like her, that gormless nervous Altmer, over me? _She thought, bitterly, as she sat on the plinth of the statue in front of the chapel. Drawing her fur cloak around her, she wished that she had been appointed to a warmer town. She hated the cold, as she was very prone to getting colds and nothing was worse than ruining a contract by an untimely sneeze.

At last, Haecuba returned, panting, red and breathless. She was not pretty by anyone's standards, not even elegant as Altmers were meant to be. Looking so exhausted, she was even less attractive. Blotchy red patches all over her face and sweat shining on her forehead was not a good look. She did not even have to ask. Knowing Haecuba's reputation, she knew the sleeper agent had got away,

_I'll be sure to mention this in my report that I was the one who was successful. _Slipping off the statue, she scowled at her companion, "You're the one with longer legs. That sleeper agent shouldn't have been a problem." Snarling, she whipped around and strode towards Olav's Tap and Tack, intent on getting in front of the largest and most warming fire in the city.

The tavern had only a handful of customers, mostly guards catching a few moments' rest before going back on duty. She supposed that people were more comfortable in their own homes in the current crisis. In addition to the knowledge that sleeper agents could be anywhere. As she sat down and called to the barman to bring her a large tankard of mead, she marvelled at the fact that even Nords could neglect their barstools in these dark times.

Haecuba did not order anything herself. She was an intolerable teetotal, insisting that alcohol damaged one's spellcasting ability. Which was a totally stupid idea in Sylvia's opinion. Just a neurotic fictional notion that had been implanted into her head and refused to budge. The Altmer did not speak, just stared down at the wood of the table. As she supped her mead and called for her second, she became more and more irritated by this,

"So, you're just going to sit there or what?" She snapped, after a large gulp. Haecuba said nothing, just stared down and avoided her eye. This just annoyed her even more. The woman just had no backbone at all. Lowering her voice so the guards would not hear, she snarled, "For Sithis' sake, you're an assassin, woman! Be alert!" Slamming a hand down on her table, she made the other start with a very satisfying jump.

The second mead was gone before she knew it and, still infuriated by the useless thing in front of her, she ordered another. As the third went down, it served as oil on the fire of her anger against her. There she was, in her grubby mage's robe, the Listener's favourite, when she couldn't even kill a rat. While, she, an Executioner, who worked hard day and night to achieve all she had, was passed over and ignored. It was a travesty. An utter travesty.

Why was that stuck-up harlot just sitting there without looking at her, anyway? Did she think that, just because the Listener took pity on her, she could treat her like she was nothing? _I'll show her! I'll show that sack of cliff-racer dung who's the superior!_ Smacking a few gold pieces on the table and standing up, she marched out of the room, knowing the idiot would follow her.

And, she did. Right around the tavern, where no one would hear her. She waited until the overgrown fool was a few feet behind her then, lashed out with her leg. It hit its target true and that witch toppled. Smirking with triumph, she whirled round and pushed her up by the neck against the log wall, pleased by her frightened expression,

"Damn it, Altmer!" She snarled in her face, "What are you to the Listener? You are not worthy to even lick her boots and yet she calls upon you to accompany her time and again! Passing _me_ over every time! Eh? Why does she care so much about you?"

"P-Please, Madam Sylvia..." Even her stutter infuriated her. Everything about her marked her as an inferior, "...I-I don't mean any-any..."

"Oh, shut up! I can't stand it when you speak!" Her hand found her dagger, which gave her a very good idea indeed, "But, you won't be much use to the Listener when you're dead!"

"Sister!" cried the other. Her fear was brilliant, just what Sylvia wanted from her, "The fifth Tenet! I beg of you, do not start a quarrel with me! I mean you no harm!"

"Oh, yeah?" She pushed the dagger a little into her stomach, "You going to call your great friend, the Listener, are you? Well, I don't see her anywhere, do you?"

"Hey, break it up, ladies!" She found herself pulled back by a strong hand at the back of her neck and staring up into the lined face of a Nord guard. Before he could say anything, however, Haecuba pleaded,

"Please, sir, it's alright. She often becomes a little argumentative when she is drunk. Do not punish her for it. She is not like this for long."

"Ah, alright." said the Nord, after a while, dropping Sylvia, "Just keep an eye on her."

Just as he was leaving, and Sylvia began to nurse her anger at being caught, Haecuba piped up, "Oh, you're Captain Burd, aren't you?"

"That's me." He nodded, turning back, "Why? Got something to report?"

"Yes." Haecuba was not stuttering anymore but she still held her nervous manner, "Uh, we are the agents sent by the Hero of Kvatch to clear out any Mythic Dawn spies and have an update for you."

"Are you, now?" Burd's eyebrows shot up, emphasising his pale eyes even more. Now Sylvia was beginning to get over her drunken rage, she stood up, trying to regain some of her dignity and emphasise that she was the leader. This didn't work, as he still addressed Haecuba, "Well, I'm glad to meet you. Since we'll be working together, I think you should come along to my house so we can get properly acquainted. What do you say?"

"We would very much like that." Sylvia nodded, before Haecuba could open her mouth, "Lead the way, captain."

So, they followed Burd back around the tavern and through the town, showing nothing but the back of his head to her. His hair was once black but it was now streaked liberally with grey. They came to a small log cabin close to the castle and it struck Sylvia for the first time how odd it was for a guard to own property. They normally slept in the guard headquarters. The place was rather nicely furnished. Not too richly, just nicely. Again, the Nord infuriatingly addressed Haecuba once they had got the door closed,

"So, who are you two?"

"I am Hession." It had been agreed by the Speakers that they should use false names if addressing the guards. Just because they were not enemies this time did not mean they should be complacent,

"And, I am Synette Durand." Sylvia butted in. Then, clearing her throat, she started the report, "A Redguard named Jearl has been proved to be in close contact with the Mythic Dawn, along with her serving woman, Saveri Farem. This scroll, pertaining information on the Mythic Dawn's plans for Bruma, has been found in her basement. Could you please make sure this reaches Cloud Ruler Temple?"

She handed over the scroll she produced from her armour, "Certainly." Burd nodded, a little uneasy, _Probably still under the impression that Haecuba was the leader. I'll put him right, though, _"So, it's all taken care of?"

"Yeah." Sylvia nodded, sending a glare at Haecuba, "They will not threaten Bruma any longer." _Not for the moment, anyway._

"Great work, ladies." Burd gave a big smile to the both of them, which made Haecuba flush crimson, _She doesn't deserve that praise._ Sylvia thought bitterly. Still, Burd asked Haecuba for more details, without giving Sylvia another glance. Irritated, she wandered around the dining room. Around the corner was a screen to seperate the dining area from another seperate room.

Checking to see that Burd was stil distracted by Haecuba, she peeked around it. It was unmistakably a girl's room. A red dress hung from the wall, along with a shiny silk black ballet dress. Little knick-knacks cluttered up the dresser and the chest of drawers; the sort of nice-looking things a girl would buy that she would never really use. On the tidily made bed was a small, long parcel of linen, which looked as though there was probably a small sword within or something similar.

The strange thing was the clothes lying on the end of the bed. A Bruma cuirass along with chainmail armour. It seemed odd that something like this would be in a girl's room. She theorised that Burd had just got careless and left some of his spare things in the girl's room. Then again, the armour looked far too big for a Nord or even a man, _How strange..._The room in general looked ordinary, with just the armour looking out of place. But the place had a peculiar aura about it. She stood, thinking what could be so funny.

Then, it hit her what was so odd. Everything was covered with a fine layer of dust. The linen cloth of the parcel was moth-eaten and the ribbon around it was frayed. No one had lived in this bedroom for weeks. Perhaps a daughter that had left home on holiday with her friends. No, something about the feel of the place told her differently.

Looking around more intently, she saw a small, moth-eaten curtain hanging over the bed, concealing something on the wall. She did not not think to look around to check that she was not caught and walked into the room. The dust on the floor stirred, making imprints where she trod. Slowly, she reached out a hand and took hold of it-

"Sister," A hand on her shoulder made her jump and look round. Haecuba was there and so was Burd. Sylvia could have kicked herself for not realising they were there, "I'm sorry, but we-we shouldn't intrude on people."

"Nah, it's okay." Burd waved a hand, his face becoming grim for the first time, "I don't mind people looking. That reminds me, I need to give this place a dusting."

Sylvia opened her voice to ask but Haecuba cut across her, "Our-our business here is finished. We need to get back to work." Then, she practically dragged the smaller Breton out with a stuttered farewell to Burd. Anger bubbled inside her once more, though she managed to keep it within her this time, _How dare she just order me around like she's the leader here?_

Curiousity was still burned within her and, when they got back to their inn room, she was furious anew at Haecuba ripping her away from what felt like a brilliant discovery. Once she had been denied the knowledge of or the permission to look at something, she never rested until the mystery of what it was. The anticipation was always made it seem more exciting than it actually was but she simply could not ignore it.

All through the rest of the day, she wondered what could be behind that old curtain and who that room belonged to. It was clear it was a girl and not a grown woman. That ballet dress looked far too small to be an adult's professional's garb. More possibilities popped into her head every few minutes as she wolfed down the dinner the landlord brought in for them.

There was no point asking Haecuba; the twit probably wouldn't have the slightest capability of thinking up a good idea. When the other had suggested they turn in, (at a far too early time for Sylvia) she still could not stop thinking about the room in the captain's house. Trying another tactic, she attempted to convince herself that she would see it the next time she visited Captain Burd. But, when would that be? When would another sleeper agent come along?

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Unable to take the suspense any longer, she dug under her bed until she found her shrouded armour and pulled it on. She did not bother to keep quiet, knowing that the Altmer would probably be too deep a sleeper to hear her. Creeping from the room, she made her way up the staircase and outside with ease. Now, she was back in her element. This was just another contract. Just without the killing part. A sacrifice to make but she simply had to know.

Making her way back to Burd's house was easy. It was only a stone's throw away from the Jerall View Inn and, even with the increased number of guards, the shadows were her aid, _Now, for the discovery!_ She thought, gleefully, as she saw that no lights were on in the windows. Still, just to be on the safe side, she performed a detect life spell before entering. She could only see a purplish glow down below the pavement in the basement of his house,

_Ah, he's asleep. _Getting steadily more and more excited, she curled her hand around the doorknob and pushed the wooden door carefully inward. With a final check around her shoulder, she slipped inside through the smallest crack possible and carefully closed the door. Then, she did the usual house-check (as she liked to call it). Curtains closed, door secure, no possibility of the owner waking up, _Right, down to business._

The screen concealing the bedroom was still there. It seemed that Burd was as true as his word and had dusted up after they left. This was an added bonus in her opinion, since there would be no telltale footprints this time. Still, it meant there was nothing to muffle her footsteps and she had to be careful. Crouching down into the standard sneak position, she crept over the floorboards and past the screen.

Her insides jerked about like caged scamps with nerves but she managed to keep her head and one eye on the purple glow that was Burd downstairs. Everything was in its proper place just as it had been that afternoon. Too in place. The girl who owned this room obviously didn't come back. In fact, she would dare to say that this room had probably not been lived in for quite some time.

So, why was it still made like this? All neat and ready as though he expected whoever it was to just walk in the door at any moment. More burning curiousity ignited inside her and she hurried across the floor. For the second time that day, she leaned over the bed and gave the curtain a tug. It came apart with a painfully-loud rattle of curtain rings but Burd made no movement below.

Behind it was a dark canvas stretched across a wooden frame. She was tempted to use night-eye but that would drain the painting of all colour and would ruin the discovery. She could use a magelight but she hated those and they could be seen by other people. Very easily. Not to mention they had a habit of sticking around for too long; not a good thing when you were chased by guards.

There was only one thing for it. Sneaking back to the dining room, she lit a small candle on the table and, putting her hand around it to lessen the light it gave off, she returned to the room. Carefully, she held it up to the canvas and stared up at the painting upon it. There were people upon it but she could not see their faces; they were all standing.

Now that the discovery was in her grasp, however, there was no going back. Daringly, she climbed upon the mattress and stood upon it, renewing the detect-life spell with her free hand. Hot wax was dangerously close to dripping on her hand but she didn't care. She felt as though she had been waiting all her life to discover this, that she had been exerting herself for years and now, this was it. She was going to find it. For the final time, she held up the candle and took her hand from it, casting its light upon the whole portrait.

It looked very like a family portrait, except the occupants did not look they were all related. No, they were all different races. Six Imperials, one looking as though he was part Breton, one Breton, one High Elf, one Nord, one Khajiit, one Nord and one Dunmer. Moving the small flame to the left, she slowly took in each painted face.

The Imperials certainly looked as though they were all related. They all had the same square sort of face shape. A mother and five children - _No, wait a minute. That one doesn't look related to them. That one's the Countess!_ She was sure that the one closest to the middle was Narina Carvain. A younger, smaller Narina Carvain but her, nonetheless. Besides, she wore fine silk while the others wore commoners' clothes.

The family was on the left while the Countess and the other four were on the right. It took her a moment to recognise the Nord as Burd. Again, he looked a lot younger with fewer wrinkles and completely black hair. The other three were people she vaguely recognised as members of the Mages' Guildhall in Bruma. She didn't know their names but the Breton certainly looked a lot younger.

Right in the middle, sitting on a high-backed chair, was a Dunmer girl wearing a red dress. A quick check behind her told her that it was the same dress that hung on the wall. A bright, brilliant smile was spread across her face and her hair was pulled off her face. For a moment, she thought she had accidently sent fire to the canvas but then she realised that it was just her hair. A vibrant orange tied in a high ponytail with a white ribbon.

She stared hard at the Dunmer's face, for it was hard not to. A strange pull attracted her to it, not the least because of her unique appearance and the fact that she was in the very centre. It had an odd...familiarity to it, as though she had seen the face before somewhere. Yet she could not think where. To try and get some clue to jog her memory, she had a look around the picture as a whole.

It was clear at once that this painting was done a long time ago. The fashions the people were sporting were decades old and, just below the Khajiit's feet, was scrawled the date, along with the artist's signature, '_12 Hearthfire, 3E408.' So, this was done twenty four years ago. _Stepping lightly off the bed (and checking that Burd was still asleep), she sat down on the floor, put out her candle and thought hard for a bit.

Family portraits were usually renewed every few years and they were not that expensive if you knew where to get a good cheap one. There were a few good artists knocking about the province, ones who travelled and did not heighten their prices out of their own greed. She recognised the artist's signature as one of those, since her family had a portrait done by that same one. He had not asked for that much. So, why keep the same one for decades? Why not renew it? That artist had not gone out of business as far as she knew. It seemed sensible to renew it and not keep the same one.

And, why, most importantly, was there such an assortment of people? Surely they were not all related...

Then, the church bells struck the hour; three o'clock in the morning. Deciding that she had stayed long enough, she slipped around the screen and replaced the depleted candle back in its holder. With a last check on Burd's whereabouts and for any nearby guards, she carefully opened the door and crept back through, her heart racing all the way back to her room.

It had not been perhaps an amazingly vital uncovering of the truth that her mind had so wound herself up to believe it would be but it had left a lasting impression upon her. That girl in the centre of the painting, that fire-haired Dunmer had really stuck in her mind. Even all the way back to Cheydinhal to deliver her report, she still could not help but thinking that there was more to discover that she had left behind her.

Sylvia considered herself to be on very good terms with her Speaker. They agreed on many things, like how useless Haecuba was, how much of a drunken lout Wulfhilda was and so on. Once she got back, Arquen greeted her like a friend, shaking her hand formally like High Elves did with their friends and sat down at the table with a bottle of Surielle wine between them to discuss what had occurred in Bruma.

Haecuba had stayed in Bruma to 'keep on the lookout' (when, in reality, Sylvia just wanted her out of the way for a while) and the rest of the Murderers were out on the lookout for more spies so they had the Sanctuary all to themselves. If one discounted the rat and the Dark Guardian. Soon, they were chatting merrily away about the progress their Brothers and Sisters had made.

Apparently, Speaker Alor's Silencer had single-handed routed out every sleeper agent in Bravil. A rather unimpressive feat at first glance but when one considered that one of them was the smith at Castle Bravil and he had killed him in the middle of the day when he was at work. Or, so Speaker Alor said. Speaker Alor adored his Silencer almost as much as he did Speaker Hlaalu,

"He's got this thing about mutes, I think." Arquen sighed, "This Silencer of his never speaks either. Or, so I've heard. I've never seen him."

After her third glass of wine, she began her tale of meeting Captain Burd, "Can you believe that Haecuba actually acted as though she was leader?" She ranted, "That undeserving trollop!"

"It's because she's a High Elf." Arquen diagnosed, "Everyone just assumes they're in a higher position. While that can often be true, it can get rather irritating if it isn't. Anyway, you went to that guard's house? I didn't think guards were meant to own property. Unless they had a family. I didn't know the captain of the guard there was married."  
"He isn't." Sylvia put in, smiling significantly, "But, it looks as though someone _was_ living there. There was this room, well, not really a room-" She explained all about how nothing was moving, how the cloth was moth-eaten and the place collected dust,

"I've heard of people who lost someone and have preserved their things exactly as they were before they died. I never thought Burd would be one of those faint-hearts, though. He's a guard and a Nord to boot. Those barbarians aren't meant to have such petty feelings. That sort of thing is meant for old spinster ladies"  
"I know." Sylvia nodded, "But that's not the most interesting part. There was this painting above the bed-" She described the painting in detail, leaving the bit about the Dunmer in the centre until last. Perhaps it was fortunate that she did, for she was not able to tell anything else about the painting after that point. She had just told her that the Dunmer was wearing the same red dress that hung on the wall in the room and then, got onto the bit of how unique she was,

"-had this amazing orange hair-Arquen?" Arquen's wine goblet went tumbling to the floor from her loosened hand. Her slanted eyes widened, making her look like a startled cat, "What is it?"

"Did you say orange hair?" She repeated, her voice suddenly full of shock, as though she had been told that one of her close relatives had died, "Wavy orange hair, like fire?"

"Y-yes, I think so." She couldn't really remember if it had been wavy or not. She had been concentrating more on the colour, "Why? Is it someone you know?"

"I know a Dunmer with that hair colour. But I have only ever seen her face once. And that was when she was injured."

"Who?" Sylvia leaned in, eager anew to learn another great discovery,

"The Listener."

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A/N: Dun, dun, dun!


	21. Chapter 20: A Silent Girl

A/N: Commence flashback overload! I'm warning you now, the timeline is all over the place so read carefully or you'll get confused!

**greentower: **Thanks!

**maskedpainter: **Some more Farwil will come after the flashbacks, don't you worry!

**Leah's Other Side: **I'm glad you think that way.

**Lily Ariel Black: **Don't you worry. I've got loads more to fit in before this story's through.

**BloodAndDiamonds:** We didn't get fast-passes and I very soon regretted it! The queues! I would have braved Oblivion but my brother said he'd had enough and going on that on my own is just too much to ask!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 20: A Silent Child**

The wind buffeted the mountainside, tossing loose stones and biting through Burd's thick fur coat. He did not move, though. He never failed his friends and this was no exception. So, he stayed sitting upon the rock against the elements. The mountains loomed on each side of the wide path, enclosing it for miles. It was a devilishly hard path to find and even harder to navigate with its many twists and turns.

His horse tossed his head unhappily as stones whacked its knees. Absently, he stroked its nose to try and calm him and wondered how long Polixones would be yet. Just as he thought about standing up and walking around to make sure his legs didn't freeze, he heard something. The sound of a carriage echoing off the sides of the rock in the distance.

Leaping off the rock, he stared into the gully before him. The clattering of the wheels upset the stones further, making them rattle on the ground in distress. Small brown creatures that Burd paid no attention to fled at the noise. It was perhaps five minutes before the caravan came hurtling into view around the corner. Burd hurried forward to meet it, knowing by sight of the horse pulling it that Polixones had come.

In the driver's seat was a hooded figure, who leapt down upon seeing Burd, letting the horse stop by itself. Polixones Harla hurried to towards him and clasped his hand,

"Thank you so much for coming, Burd." Under his hood, Burd thought he looked paler than he remembered and the stubble on his chin was darker, "I have so little time left and this must be done in total secret."

"Of course." Burd reluctantly dropped his voice at his friend's strained 'shh', "What's going on? Has something happened?"

"The Morag Tong. They have killed all my family. I managed to escape along with my treasures and have been fleeing from them for two years."

This news struck Burd dumb. He could barely believe it. His wife, formerly named Dralosa and renamed Desdamona upon her marriage, his children, Martius and Ophelia, dead? He had rarely seen them but the memories of them sharpened at the terrible news,

"Why?" Polixones gave no answer but instead led him around the caravan through the flap at the back. Once inside, Burd gasped. Polixones had been a treasure hunter by trade and was a natural hoarder. Burd never knew that he'd accumulated this much, though. Swords, shields, boxes of jewellery and rich clothes, enchanted and unenchanted alike, trinkets, portraits, books, cases of gems, jewel-encrusted bottles of potions and, to cap it all, his prized stuffed spider daedra,

"My treasures, Burd. All of which, I leave to you."

"Wh-what?" It took him about five seconds to take this in and he still didn't believe it, "Polixones, you're not going to-"

A sad sort of smile appeared on the Dunmer's lips, "I can run no more, Burd. This is no life for me. I may enjoy wandering but not being chased. Now, I have lost most everything I hold dear and will stand to lose even more if I continue. You are my greatest friend, Burd, and, before I meet my maker, I wish to pass on all my treasures to a safe hand." He gave a resigned sort of sigh as Burd's stricken brain attempted to comprehend what he had heard. Polixones Harla, the most audacious and stalwart adventurer he knew, was just going to calmly walk to his executioners and ask for death. This was no way for him to die, not him. He expected him to die bravely in battle or protecting a friend, not like this.

At this, Polixones put down his hood. He had a very rare purplish hue to his skin which Burd though was his defining feature. The rest of him was relatively normal compared to it; stubble on his chin and dark hair pulled into a long pigtail swung over his shoulder, "Before I leave, however, I want to show you my greatest and most secret of treasures that I give to you."  
Before Burd could open his mouth to ask what he had unearthed this time, Polixones had moved to a chest that one could fit a timber wolf in and beckoned him to follow. Indeed, the chest did look like something could live inside due to all the air holes in the top. This lid, upon Burd approaching, was lifted up by Polixones to reveal what was within.

A grubby-looking blanket met his eyes, not matching the grandeur of the items around it. Something was definitely underneath, he could see the bump. Burd had the idea that it was probably one of Polixones' pet wolves that he'd managed to save. Maybe his prized one, Antony.

Before Polixones could pull it off, however, the blanket stirred and something brightly orange appeared at the edge. Polixones tugged that blanket off and Burd gave a gasp of a amazement.

A tiny Dunmer child, no older than five blinked up at him with ruby red eyes under a mass of bright orange hair. She took one good look at Burd and dove under the blanket again as though terrified,

"No, Lavinia." Polixones firmly pulled it back, "This is Burd. He will be your father now."

"Polixones," gasped Burd, "wha-you mean..."

"She is my secret treasure, Burd." The sad smile was back on his face. Something Burd had never seen before now, "I have kept her birth a secret. No record of her has been made. Now, only you and I know she exists. The Morag Tong knows nothing of her and will not pursue her. I have taken her with me all the while I have been on the run, hiding her along with myself. Such a life is not for a child. The desireable world that I can never give her is with you in Cyrodiil. Her name is Lavinia Harla and she is your own now."

The girl picked up on what was happening quicker than Burd and clasped her father's cloak,

"No, child." Polixones clasped both her tiny hands in one of his thin-fingered ones, "You will find happiness with Burd, away from me." She shook her head violently, sending her hair all over the place, "Now, don't be like that. In Cyrodiil, you can live without fear. Without having to look over your shoulder all the time. You'll never have to hide in this box again. Live, Lavinia. Live a long life without having to run away all the time. Live for me, Mother, Martius and Ophelia. We will be with you." He slowly relinquished her hands, "Now, be a good girl and go with Burd."

With that, he stood up and drew his dagger. Using his foot to trap the point down, he pulled it hard until it snapped. Leaving the blade on the floor, he strode silently to the driver's seat. Before going through, he glanced back at Burd, the manic smile he knew so well back on his face, "If you think I'm going to let the Tong get me, you're dead wrong. I'm going the old Reman way with this dagger." All mania vanished and he began serious for the final time, "You look after my girl, Burd. Sell everything else here if you have to but never let her go."

And, he was gone. He's slipped through the driver's door and Burd heard the faint whinney of a horse. Looking through the flap, he saw his adventure companion and greatest friend vanish into the darkness. He wanted to go after him, maybe to reason with him or fight the Tong that pursued him, he wasn't sure. He just didn't want Polixones to go. But, by the time he had regained the power of his legs, he knew that he was too far away to hear him.

A lump rose in his throat as it finally sank in. Polixones was going to die, he was going to take his own life, alone in the Jeralls, to be found by the assassins that pursued him. No more would he and Burd dive into caves and ruins and come back with treasure beyond their wildest dreams. He would never see Polixones throw himself at any enemy without the slightest trace of fear. Now, he was gone, leaving Burd with a few trinkets and a now-orphaned daughter. And, he hadn't even said goodbye to him...

Turning back, trying to suppress tears, he saw the girl, Lavinia, staring up at him. She did not cry like he expected her to, like he wanted to do himself, she just stared up at him. No trace of sadness, no trace of anger, just staring, as though memorising his face for a portrait. She waited patiently as Burd tried to speak normally, "We-we can't stay here. L-let's go."

He shoved the abandoned broken part of the blade into a small chest, leapt out, backed his horse into the harness in place of the one Polixones rode away on and sat up on the driver's seat while it started to move. The gully was straight and narrow for miles; Burd wouldn't need to steer for quite some time. He moved the flap behind him back and saw Lavinia, still sitting up in the box, staring at the flapping door at the back,

"Lavinia?" She looked around. Still, she had no tears on her face or in her eyes, "C'mon. Sit with me." It took her perhaps a few moments before she made a move. It almost looked as though she was calculating whether it was safe or not. Then, still clutching the blanket around her like a cloak, she delicately stepped out. He could just see a black dress underneath it, slightly too big for her so it trailed and came over her hands.

She slowly approached him, like he was some untamed beast that would attack at sudden movements. Finally, she reached him and accepted the hand to help her up with equal caution. It was astonishing how very...un-childlike she was. She didn't ask him about her father, she didn't burst into tears, she didn't even look at him. She just stared straight ahead of her. Even when he put her arm around her and held her close, she didn't react.

He wondered if she understood what was happening. He hoped not. What a thing for a child as young as her to comprehend that her father was leaving and never coming back. As they continued their silent journey, he began to wonder whether she knew about her mother, her brother and her sister. If she had travelling with Polixones for all this time, she probably didn't have much of a chance to get to know them. Did she even remember them at all?

Being unmarried, Burd had never had children of his own, though he often told Polixones how jealous he was of him for having such a happy family. He didn't really have much of an idea of how to deal with children and so, he worried as they travelled together how to take care of her properly. She, however, acted as though Burd wasn't even there. Her initial anxiety of him faded when the night turned into day.

At the first sight of sunlight, however, she dove back into the caravan as though something had leaped out at her. This shocked Burd at first into thinking that she could see something about to attack them. After about five minutes of riding, however, he realised that there was nothing there. Puzzled, he halted the horse and stepped back into the caravan.

Lavinia was back in the chest, trying to pull the heavy lid over herself, "Don't do that." Burd tried to be gentle in prising her away from it and lifting her back out, "It's okay. You don't have to hide. Come on. Up you get." She seemed fearful of being outside her chest and actually tried to pull away from him, "Hey, hey. Come on." It took him five minutes of constant holding her back and eventually closing the lid so she couldn't get back in before she stopped trying. It took at least fifteen minutes before he could persuade her to come back out. He tried his best not to lose his patience and get angry with her but he became extremely frustrated after a while. He was sure that some of it crept into his voice.

In the end, she came out but kept the fur cloak Burd found for her covering her head so her hair was invisible. This all seemed very odd to him for a moment; what was she so afraid of? Why would the sun rising make her scared? After a moment's thought, he wondered if Polixones had traveled only by night to avoid being seen and hid during the day. Then, she got it into her head that the daytime was dangerous. Polixones was right. Being on the run wasn't any life for a child, especially if it made them get ideas like that.

They didn't get back to Bruma until dusk. All the way through, Lavinia was silent. She did not profess hunger, thirst or any need like he had seen ordinary children do. He heard her stomach rumble but she didn't say anything. Burd wondered if they had regular mealtimes when they were on the run. Or if they went some days without eating at all, _No, Polixones wouldn't let his own daughter go hungry. _Still, those thoughts managed to invade his mind.

The food they had was dried and stale but, still, Lavina made no complaint. She just slowly ate whatever was handed to her with uncommonly good table manners for someone her age. After a few hours of awkward silence, Burd tried asking her questions to try and get her to talk. He tried to ask her about things that wouldn't upset her like 'how old are you' and 'when's your birthday' but, still, she would not answer him.

He wondered whether she even knew how to talk or whether Polixones had taught her the concept of age. Whether he had time to teach her anything between fleeing the Tong. It soon became clear to him that looking after her would be more daunting than it first seemed. Perhaps he would have to teach her how to talk and, with no idea of how old she was, he had no idea when it was time to send her to school.

All these things became painfully clear to him as they trundled down the road towards the dark shape of Bruma. Along with the worry of where he was going to keep all those riches in the caravan. His house surely couldn't accommadate it all. The ostler hailed him as he pulled up to Wildeye Stables, "Nice ride, Burd. Where'd you pick that up?"

"Oh, nowhere special." Burd shrugged, knowing that a white lie was safer and quicker than the truth, "Mind if I take it into the city?"

"Course not." The ostler smiled, "Just bring your horse back when you're done."  
"Right, you are." Burd spurred it on, noting that Lavinia had dived back into the caravan at the sight of a person. Bringing her outside was clearly going to be a challenge. As he halted the caravan around the back of his house, he spotted Raeniel on patrol. Burd wanted to enlist and become a guard but the only thing that was putting him off was the presence of Raeniel, the highly unpleasant, Dunmer-hating Bosmer Captain of the Guard.

Seeing him reminded him of the many times he had overheard Raeniel's rantings in Olav's of how much he hated the 'ashborn race' and made him realise that he had to keep Lavinia out of his way. The last thing she needed when coming to a new place was to be on the receiving end of his abuse. Unfortunately, Raeniel chose to get into a conversation with a guard right in front of his house. This meant they had to get in through the cellar entrance.

Again, Lavinia didn't complain. She just picked up a large book half her size, slung a tasselled bag over her body and let him carry her inside. In his arms, she barely weighed more than a sack of wheat and was no bigger than one. He fretted whether girls were meant to be that small before turning his attention back to where she was going to sleep. He could use the guest room upstairs, _I hardly ever get guests anyway._ But, that would mean leaving her on her own while he slept in the basement. Not a good idea with someone so young.

He stood before the cellar door, dithering as he tried to make a decision. Lavinia gazed up at him, patiently waiting for him. Hesistantly, and after an even longer pause, he said, "Uh, Lavinia. I've got a room upstairs but I sleep down here." She nodded at once, as though she had been asked whether she would like to sleep there, "Are you sure? I could always bring out a bedroll-" Another nod. Burd blinked in surprise at her decisive nature. It was almost like she was an adult in a child's body.

Reluctantly, he showed her to the guest room and closed the curtains. Lavinia immediately discarded her cloak and shoes on a chair without being told and climbed upon the bed that looked far too large for her. The book and bag she carried with her were dumped on the bedside table. She asked Burd for nothing and seemed to require nothing else,

"Uh," Burd blinked in astonishment again. Children were not meant to be this independent, were they? "we'd better have an early night. We'll get up early so I can show you round. Okay?"

She gave a small nod but nothing else. Thinking of nothing else to say, Burd slowly made his way downstairs, not taking his eyes off her until he closed the door behind him. All night, he worried about her and half-waited for when she would come to him because she was scared or wanted some company. Her silence and her independence was strange and unnatural. Even grown men were not like this. He found himself getting up to check on her every half an hour.

As a result, he hardly got any sleep that night and, when dawn finally came, he was rubbing his eyes vigourously while yawning widely. On the other hand, Lavinia seemed to be completely well-rested with no trace of weariness. In fact, she was kneeling on her bed, flipping the pages of the huge book she had brought with her.

Upon looking up, she immediately closed it and placed it back on the bedside table. Slipping on her shoes, she stood, looking completely ready for the day. Burd stared in shock before a thought occurred to him, "Oh, yeah. You, er, didn't get a chance to wash before you went to bed. It's just downstairs." She gave him a look as though she had difficulty understanding what he was saying but, a moment later, she was striding past him down into the cellar. She barely reached his waist,

_What is she?_ Burd thought, as Lavinia slipped through the barest gap between door and frame, _Is she really Polixones' daughter?_ He remembered how Polixones would smile and laugh whenever he and Burd were together, either in a tavern or some dark dungeon. He never lost his spirit and positive outlook for a moment, even when he was wounded from a dreadful battle. Until now, that is.

Everything had changed in one night. Polixones dead by his own blade and Burd with his orphaned daughter. He had no idea what to do, what was ahead of him but he couldn't stop it now. He had to try and get through it, he had to help Lavinia have the normal life her father wanted for her.

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_Selena_

The liquid fizzed merrily in the bottle as the garlic sliced neatly under the influence of her knife. The potion was just about ready to be completed, she just needed to put everything together. Just as the finished concoction was placed on the shelf, the main door opened,

"Yes?" She called, poking her head around the alchemists' quarters door, "Oh, Burd! Good to see you!" Burd smiled his wide smile at the sight of her, "Off duty, eh?"

"Just about to start." Burd had started work as a guard a week ago, shown by the bright yellow cuirass he wore, "I'm just wondering if you could have a look at Lavinia." The name rang a bell. She had heard the gossipping associates use it in conversation that she had not been involved in. Burd gently tugged at something behind him and, seemingly from nowhere, brought out a small girl wearing a burgundy-red dress.

She was without a doubt one of the strangest children Selene had ever seen. One; she was a Dunmer, that were so rarely seen in places around Bruma. Two; she had bright orange hair in a thick mass around her shoulders. Three; she was staring up at her as though trying to see straight through her,

"She hasn't spoken a word since I brought her here. I wondered if you could do a check-up on her. There might be something wrong."

"Alright, then. Come on, dear. Sit up here." Lavinia obediently sat upon the stool pointed out to her without any hesistation. Selena could not quite pinpoint why but the girl had a strange aura about her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on that drew her to the little girl. However, Selena did a quick examination of her with a spell but found nothing. She tried again and again, even asking her a few simple questions in the kindest voice she could but still nothing.

Burd became anxious as the seconds went by and she knew that would be late if he stayed any longer, "Burd, do you have any place for her to stay until you're done with duty? I could keep an eye on her for you if you like."  
"Are you sure?" Burd gave a start, "I mean, this is a new place and all. She might get a bit scared-"

"Oh, Burd!" Selena actually laughed, "You're a born parent, you know that. Don't you worry. I've had experience with children. She'll be fine with me. And, of course, if she says anything, I will tell you." Most reluctantly, Burd left for Castle Bruma. Lavinia watched him go and Selena saw her mouth turn downwards slightly. A motion invisible at a distance, "Oh, don't worry, Lavinia. He'll be back."

Though she didn't look convinced, she delved into her bag and brought something out. A flat piece of wood with a piece of parchment clamped into place. Like a skilled artist, she brought out a piece of charcoal from a smaller beaded bag and began to guide it across the page very fast so her hands were becoming a blur. The constant etching of the charcoal became background noise after a while and it never seemed to stop,

"What are you doing there?" Selena asked, trying to peer over her shoulder. Lavinia, however, clasped it to her chest as though she had been disturbed doing something private, "Oh, alright. I won't look." That was as far as any conversation with her went that day. Any other attempts were ignored; the girl seemed completely absorbed in her work, flicking her head up every now and again to whatever she was drawing.

She was soon finished and began another. This time, she took up a book, a alembic and an empty potion bottle without warning and placed them strategically on the table in front of her. Selena found herself paying more attention to Lavinia's activities than her own. Thus, she was more prone to making mistakes, forcing her to try again and again on the same potion for half an hour. All the while, Lavinia remained oblivious to how distracting she was and was well underway with another drawing.

Just as she finally managed to get it right and get the batch done (about ten minutes before Burd's shift was due to be over), the door banged open, nearly causing her to drop it. Whipping around at a loud laugh, she glared at Volanaro and J'skar, who burst into the room, "Selena!" cheered J'skar, his whiskers pulled back in his toothy grin the way Khajiits do, "Here you are! Still slaving away at the pestle, are we?"

"At least, _I'm _working." She shot him a glare, "What have you two been up to this time?"

"Oh, Selena, how could you think such an awful thought?" Volanaro said, in the mock-tragic voice that he knew grated her, "Here we are, come to say hello and you give us nothing but accusations. Do you really think we're the sort of people who pick on our fellow associates?"

"I _know _you do." Selena snapped, picked up her knife and slicing the mandrake root with more force than necessary, "Was it Jeanne again?"

"We're not picking on her-" He never got any further because, at that moment, there was a small noise from the corner. Looking around, Selena was shocked to see Lavinia, her work on her knees, giggling into her hands, "Oh, hello! I didn't see you there." Even when he crouched down in front of her, he still surpassed her height by about a head, "What's your name?"

Though Selena was sure that she would talk this time, she made no sound. Her giggles vanished abruptly and she stared up at him with no trace of mirth. After a moment's pause, Selena spoke up, "She's Lavinia. She can't talk."

"Why not?" J'skar asked, "She looks fine to me."

"Well, there's nothing physically wrong with her." She admitted, glad that the two had decided to be serious, "I don't know why but she won't say a word."

"You said 'won't', there." Volanaro pointed out, "I thought you said a moment ago that she 'can't' talk."  
"That's not what I meant." Selena admitted, flushing. She hated when Volanaro pointed out every mistake she made, "I don't know whether it's won't or can't."

Volanaro's eyebrows rose but his eyes did not stay still. They flicked down to Lavinia's drawing board and immediately grabbed it. Just as instantly, she had grabbed it and attempted to pull it back, crying out in distress, "Let that go at once, Volanaro!" Selena snapped, standing up and raising a hand threateningly,

"Alright, then. Sorry, Lavinia." He relinquished the board, which was held to Lavinia's chest as though it was her baby brother. She actually scowled at him, a furious snarl which bared her teeth. With that, she took up her drawings and moved out of the room in clear disgust. Volanaro was left going red in the face and blinking in surprise,

"Now, look what you've done!" Selena snapped, feeling as angry as Lavinia had looked,

"Wow." J'skar scratched the roots of his ears like he did when he was feeling awkward, "I bet she hates you now, Volanaro."

"I just wanted a look..." The Altmer murmered, going red right to the tips of his ears, "...I'm...going to try and apologise." With that, he ambled awkwardly out the room. Having got over her initial anger, Selena found herself impressed with Lavinia. She had never seen Volanaro be so pentinent for upsetting someone before. Perhaps because he never usually picked on children and he hadn't meant it this time.

Poking her head around the door, he saw Volanaro trying desperately to apologise to her and get a response. Lavinia, on the other hand, had somehow managed to haul herself onto the main counter and was sitting there, drawing again and completely ignoring him, "Give it up, Volanaro." J'skar called, after about five minutes of him trying to get her attention, "She's not interested. Let's not bother her."

Again, Selena was amazed. They had never outright avoided bothering anyone as far as she had seen. Except maybe the Count. Volanaro made to leave but, at that moment, Lavinia's tiny hand shot out and grabbed a handful of his robe, making him halt. The moment he looked round, however, she bent over her work again. For about ten minutes, the scene stood still except for her head occasionally flicking up at him, before she released him without warning.

Before Volanaro could open his mouth, however, the door opened and Burd hurried inside, "Sorry, sorry, I'm late!" He gasped at Selena, his face red as though he had been running, "Raeniel made me stay on duty a bit longer for being late. Are you okay, Lavinia?" When she had seen him, she had put away her drawing materials but kept the one she had been doing out, which she folded neatly into four. She made no response to his fretful questions of whether she liked it in the Mages' Guild or if Selena had taken good care of her. It was clear that Burd did not like being away from the girl for a minute.

Without help, she dropped down off the counter, reached up and stuffed the drawing into Volanaro's pocket. Then, without a gesture of farewell to any of them, she strode over to Burd and stood beside him. Volanaro, still confused, pulled the piece of parchment out and unfolded it while Selena answered Burd's questions on how she had got on. He took one look of what was upon it and a look of indignation splashed across his face,

"Hey!" He snapped at Lavinia, "My ears are _not_ big!"

Selena opened her mouth to tell him off but Lavinia beat her to it. A strange but distintively cheeky smile spread across her face as she looked up at Volanaro, making both Selena and Burd stare in astonishment at this amount of emotion from her. The next action was even more surprising. Without the slightest bit of fear of the Altmer mage towering over her, she held her hands up level to her face and stuck out her tongue.

When Burd had led her out, Volanaro was still fuming, "The nerve!" He snarled, glaring at the drawing as though it had done him a personal wrong. Selena peered over his shoulder...and gasped. A drawing of an Altmer face and clearly Volanaro was upon it, looking rather perplexed about something. It looked nothing like a five year old girl could draw. More like a professional artist. Underneath was a caption in spiky, uneven writing, spelling _Big Ears._

J'skar peered over as well and burst out laughing, "Great likeness!"

Volanaro snarled back and stalked away into the living quarters, the picture still in his hand.

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_Volanaro_

_How on earth does this place get so cluttered up?_ He wondered, riffling through a drawer of papers. Some had yellowed and began to crumble with age. He had half-forgotten this drawer existed. Whatever he wasn't immediately interested in was stuffed in there and abandoned, _Letter from a friend I don't remember...diagram of the Arcane University...oh, I forgot I had that...drawing..._

He stopped his mindless sorting to look at the paper in front of him. It was the oldest of the lot, browning but the charcoal marks were still visible. The words _Big Ears_ still stood out at the bottom of the page, making a lump rise in his throat. He remembered why it was there; when he had heard the news that Lavinia had died, he had stuffed it in the drawer because it reminded him too much of her.

Now that he held it in his hand thirteen years later, every memory of her rose to the surface. Even his first meeting, when she had done this drawing and stuck out her tongue at him, _How can she have died like that?_ He thought again, as he had the day he had heard, _How can someone so brilliant, so unique and so lovely be just taken away in one moment? One day, she was there in Burd's house and, overnight, she's gone. _He had to put the parchment down to wipe the tears off his face.

A shout upstairs distracted him from his grief. Stuffing the picture into his pocket, he leapt out of his room and threw open the door to the main hall. Just as he mounted the first step, J'skar barrelled into him and the two fell with a crash to the floor, "Oomph!" he gasped, massaging his back as he got up, "J'skar, what the-?"

"No time!" cried the Khajiit. One could always tell whether he was being serious or not and this time, he was. His fur was standing on end, his whiskers twitching and his ears erect, "Necromancers! The King of Worms! Jeanne is dead!"

"What?" gasped Volanaro, nothing really going in except that they were in serious danger. Indeed, he could smell burning drifting from upstairs. Leaping up, he readied the chameleon spell. It was never a good idea to charge headlong into battle before assessing the situation. Just as he thrust out his hand to cast it on J'skar, a hooded Necromancer poked their head down the steps,

"My King! Two more mages here!"

An ancient-looking High Elf glided into view at the Necromancer's shout. Yes, that was the word, glided. His feet did not seem to touch the ground as he came into view. Though he looked a few centuries old, he had a strange, eerie presence of being much older. His flesh was still intact but Volanaro could tell that it was a lich. That he stood before the King of Worms, Mannimarco.

The chameleon spell died in his hands due to lack of attention. He had no power to move his limbs, let alone cast a spell. It was as though someone had put a sword to his throat, though no blade was visible. He could not move or think clearly, except that he was going to die. That was certain. There was no escape from the king of the necromancers.

A gasping came to his ears, making him twitch his eyes to the side. Selena was being dragged by the scruff of the neck by another necromancer, pale as snow and bleeding from a gash on her stomach. An Imperial female with neat hair and a hard face, "Here, my King. I have subdued this one."

"Well done, Camilla." A terrible smile spread across that face and his voice was deeper than a normal elf's wont, "I shall gratefully accept her soul. In the meantime, take care of these two."

_CRACK! CRASH!_

The ceiling above them exploded, showering them with dust and splintering wood. He leapt back in shock, the spell of the King of Worms gone, sure that this was another companion of theirs. Some gigantic undead creature perhaps. Snowflakes fell through the hole as the dust faded. These white flakes were caught by something dark and feathery. A hooded figure, with their back to him, stood between them and the King. The necromancer, Camilla, lay dead at their feet.

Mannimarco gave a small gasp at the scene, dropping the half-conscious Selena. The hooded one that had exposed them charged forward with a loud frenzied battlecry, drawing forth a bound dagger. He too met the same fate as Camilla, falling to the floor with his throat cut. When he had hit the ground, the figure advanced towards Mannimarco without a trace of fear. Volanaro didn't know quite what was going on but a small glimmer of hope entered him that perhaps all was not lost after all,

"Oh, my dear!" The Altmer smirked in a way that made Volanaro's skin crawl, "How very impressive. Neither of my two most powerful followers are even close to your skill. You crushed them like insects. What an interesting subject you will be. I would love to know where you get such physical strength."

A humourless chuckle came from the stranger, "Why don't you experience my strength first-hand right now?" At this, she spread out her arms, revealing the most strange choice of weapons Volanaro had seen used. A long elven claymore in her right hand, held up perfectly well with one hand, and an ebony shortsword, point down, in her left, "Do try to pay attention, though. You will only realise it a split-second before you die."

At that, she tore up the rest of the stairs and lunged with her claymore at him. Mannimarco leapt out of the way just in time and the claymore was left to sink an inch deep into the wooden floor a foot from Selena, "My, my, that was close." Mannimarco sighed, still calm and collected as ever, "I would have lost an arm at least with a swing like that. You will indeed be a fine addition to my collection."

As the stranger advanced a second time, Volanaro was pushed by J'skar up the steps so they could watch and take care of Selena in the process. Every necromancer in the place had stopped dead in their tracks to watch and another hooded figure loomed up behind Mannimarco. A dark ebony claymore was raised above their head and the surrounding watchers could only cry a belated warning before the Altmer's arm was severed at the elbow. That useless limb wasted away to dust before it hit the ground.

Mannimarco, though gasping in pain, managed to collect himself enough to say, "Two of you? Very clever and, might I say, just a tad unfair? But, before we really get this battle underway, may I ask what connection you both have with this place? You are not mages, I'll swear."

"You deserve no battle etiquette. And, no answer." The first stranger stated and the two of them closed in within the blink of an eye. Mannimarco fell to the floor, with a gaping hole in his stomach and his head cut off. That body was only visible for a second before it too crumbled to dust. All that was left was a strange-looking staff and a set of ragged necromancer's robes.

The scene stood still for a moment. None of the bystanders dared to believe their eyes. The feared, immortal, invincible King of Worms had been cut down in a trice. Then, one of the necromancers screamed in terror and the spell was broken. In one black great mass, they fled through the ruined doors amid cries of,

"Don't hurt me!"

"I give up!"

"They'll kill us all!"

The first stranger thrust out a hand towards Volanaro, J'skar and a just-faintly-breathing Selene and pursued them. On command, the second stranger hurried to them. Her cloak was blue, like a conjurer's robe, and Volanaro wagered a guess that she was a High Elf judging by her size, though what he could see of her skin beneath her hood was sallow rather than the standard tan he bore. Underneath, she wore some strange light armour, close-fitting like leather but as black as the necromancers' robes.

She stuck her claymore into the floor and knelt by Selena. She began uttering healing spells at once, coaxing bright blue magic to flow from her hands to Selena's wound. J'skar managed to find his voice first, "You-you both killed him...like that...What _are _you?"

The Altmer made no reply but continued her work. The wound was healing up nicely now and the blood was fading as the damage was reversed. This woman was obviously a Master of Restoration if she could do that this quickly. The fires around them smouldered, dying as the snow and chill wind from both holes in the ceiling where their saviours had descended. He noticed that the cloak had a long split down the middle and the feathers combined to create the image of wings.

The leader of the two (he assumed) returned sometime later with blood splashed on her dark face. She was clearly a Dunmer, though her red eyes were invisible under her hanging hood, "How is she?" She directed the question at her companion, "Does she need your assistance now?"

"She is doing well." The other answered, standing, "If she is taken care of well, she should recover."  
"Good. Oh, yes." She delved into her pockets after sticking her claymore into the floor like her companion. Volanaro stood too, his legs shaking. J'skar took over with the healing as the strange woman approached. Though she was not as terrifying as Mannimarco, she certainly held an oppressing aura that told him she was not one to cross. However, she did nothing but held out a folded piece of parchment, "You dropped this, Big Ears."

Before he could say another word, she had twirled round and began to walk out, her companion following her. Instinctively, he followed her, though he felt like his knees would not hold him up for much longer. He tried calling after her but his voice wouldn't work. Once they were outside, they were hailed by a dozen guards hurrying towards the burning Mages' Guild. Burd led them and the Dunmer took only one look at him before fleeing at top speed with her companion tailing behind into the night.

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A/N: Aw, isn't little Lavinia cute?


	22. Chapter 21: First School Days

A/N: Yet more flashbacks!

**Miss Lieress**: Thanks for saying such great things about my story. Why did you get in trouble, though? Did you draw on the walls or something?

**Zaelone: **Glad to hear from you again! Keep reading!

**maskedpainter: **(runs after you to the Martin shrine) After the flashbacks, I'll bring them back. Don't you worry!

**Lily Ariel Black: **I do intend to bring more of Volanaro in soon.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **I loved Volanaro too! He has such a great sense of humour.

**deadfinger: **I know!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 21: First School Days**

_Burd_

Burd was restless as he sat on the plinth of the statue before the chapel. On Selena's advice, he had sent Lavinia to school three weeks after her arrival. The priests in the chapel ran lessons for children in Bruma and the surrounding villages every day except Sundas, when they were expected to be seen at chapel. Burd had dutifully taken her to chapel for the last two Sundas', though he had the feeling that some of Polixones' ambivilent views on the Divines had rubbed off on her. Though she did not outwardly show dislike of the long sermons, she didn't show enjoyment either.

His shift had finished and it was still twenty minutes before the lessons actually finished. One mother and father were standing in the doorway out of the cold, putting themselves in danger of being hit by the doors when they opened. In his short shift, Burd thought of countless things that could go wrong in an even more rapid succession than he had when she was at the Mages' Guild.

What if the children didn't like her? She would probably be the only Dunmer there among an assortment of Nords, Imperials and Bretons. He didn't even know if there would be any elves there. Would she be ignored or worse bullied for being different? All those things went through his head once more as he stared at the door, waiting for the bells to ring.

Every second trickled by very slowly, like the sparse idle snowflakes after the blizzard an hour ago, slowly drifting to the ground. Every second, Burd grew more tense as he wondered what was going on behind that door. To try and calm himself down, he tried to think of happier possibilities. Perhaps she was proving to be the clever girl he had come to accept that she was and excelling in everything. Perhaps, she was making friends among the other children or even starting to talk.

This made the time go a lot more quickly. All the while, more parents began to congregate outside. He was just entertaining himself with ideas of Lavinia singing for the class when a voice behind him made all those happy possibilities vanish like melted snow, "I say, Burd, old chap. Wasn't that orphaned Dunmer girl coming to school today?"

Raeniel. He stood behind him, a full two foot under his height, but his presence made all hope for Lavinia's welfare vanish. He had a son too, Saeniel, who was eight-years-old, three years older than Lavinia, who went to these very lessons. Older and younger children were taught by different priests but they would be together during breaks. His heart sank as he thought of it. If the phrase 'like father, like son' had any validity, Lavinia would be in for a very tough time indeed.

Eventually, after forcing himself to talk politely to his captain, the bells tolled and the doors opened. A dozen children hurtled out to their parents, Saeniel one of them. As Burd went in to ask the priest how Lavinia's first day had gone, he strained to hear what Saeniel was telling his father, "...new girl does nothing but draw stuff in the corner. She's weird."

"Well, she is a Dunmer." Raeniel answered, in a heartlessly calm and reasonable voice, "Best not to get too friendly with her."  
Burd swallowed down the urge to whip round and give Raeniel something that would never heal but punching him in front of a load of children was definitely not the best idea so he resisted. All the while he was striding in, anger at the injustice of it all pumped in his ears like a furious heartbeat. Raeniel was clearly out of order with feeding his son such terrible things and yet, he, Burd, was powerless to stop him.

Lavinia, her hair done up in bunches, was standing by the pews, her bag over her shoulder, holding herself like a student at the Arcane University rather than someone her age. She marched over to him and stood by his side. Her expression was as unreadable as ever. He couldn't tell whether today had been a good day or a bad day. The suspense was starting to become unbearable as he caught the priest who taught the younger class; a young brown-haired Imperial who had probably been initiated recently,

"Why, yes, she is a well-behaved girl." She nodded, "Of course, I didn't ask her to tell us about herself in front of the class. You did tell me this morning about her speech problem."

"And, is she doing well with the lessons?" Burd asked, nervously, glancing down at Lavinia, who seemed distracted by the stained glass windows,

"Well, yes. She's learning well and seems to grasp things very quickly."

"But?" Burd could sense by her tone there was something wrong,

"She, ah, what's a good phrase? Um, she doesn't seem interested in what I'm teaching her. She does the work, of course, but she seems very bored with it."

"Well, I don't think anyone likes having to go to school." Burd tried to make it seem better than it sounded,

"Of course, but I feel that she does the tasks just because she's asked to. I mean, the other children love playing with the numbered blocks. They would play with them all day if I let them but she's just not bothered with them at all."

A cold feeling of dread began to settle into his stomach as the teacher ran a hand through her hair and sighed, "And, that's just during lessons. During breaks, she doesn't socialise at all. She just sits in the corner with her sketching and doesn't even try to play with the other children. We've tried to get her to join in with the games, of course, but again, she just isn't interested."

"She is new." Burd pointed out, "It's natural to be shy."

"If only it were that." The priest sighed, "This goes beyond ordinary shyness. This is being deliberately unsocial. The children are already starting to say that she's strange and they won't go near her."

Burd's heart sank. This was what he had been dreading. Her silence was her enemy in making friends and she was at risk of becoming more of an outsider than she already was. Again, he looked down at her. She did not seem at all bothered with what was said about her. She had sat on one of the pews and was working on a half-done sketch of the window of Talos.

Only recently had Burd been allowed to look at the drawings she did. It always amazed him how she could draw like a professional artist being so young. She got her talent from her father; Polixones had been a good artist for as long as Burd had known him. Had he been born with such a talent like his daughter? He had even mentioned that to her once, earning him a long stare for her before she had returned avidly to her work,

"She can't go through school without any friends." Burd stated, firmly,

"I know." The priest nodded, "Perhaps if you got her to go to places with children her age more often. Like some of the after-school clubs we run here every week. Here. This is a list of all the clubs that are on at the moment and the times. Go over them with Lavinia and see if there are any she likes the look of."

"Right. C'mon, Lavinia."

She hastily gathered up her work and followed him out. Most of the parents had already gone. Thankfully, Raeniel and Saeniel were among them. They strode home unmolested by questions, which Burd was very grateful for. Still, he noticed that the straggling children pointed her out to their parents, putting her and Burd under scrunity from curious eyes, which made Burd walk so fast that Lavinia had to jog to keep up.

When they got in, Lavinia retreated to her room as always and Burd followed her. He had put up a screen to give her some privacy and had bought a few toys that a girl would like such a dolls and a rocking horse. These lay completely ignored, untouched and collecting a fine layer of dust. The only things she liked were her drawing materials and that book she kept on her bedside table all the time.

This was what she took up, opened and began to peruse through. It was so big and heavy that he was amazed she could even lift it. He sat next to her, peering over her shoulder. All the pages were handwritten and he recognised the spiky scrawl as Polixones' handwriting. He tried to get a look at the words but Lavinia saw him looking at that point and snapped the book shut, just like she would with her drawings until recently, _So, not yet, eh?_ He thought, _I'm not trusted enough yet, am I?_

Aloud, he said, "Look, Lavinia. I don't know if you were listening but the teacher said you weren't getting on with the other kids." She looked around, that blank unreadable look on her face. Burd carefully put his arm around her small shoulders, "I know this must be really scary for you. New province, new city and new people but, y'know, the longer you put off facing them, the scarier it'll be. No one can live without at least one good friend in their life."

She frowned, as though what he said was silly and impossible, "No, really." Burd insisted, "I had your father as my good friend until...recently..." He tried to be sensitive about the issue but she didn't react over it, "...and, now, I've got you." Her head jerked around and she stared at him with wide eyes, as though she could not believe what she was hearing, "Yeah, that's right." Burd nodded. The words were coming easily now, "You're my special friend now."

For the first time, all unapproachable un-childish manner vanished from her and she stared at him with big eyes in utter astonishment. That is, until she was distracted by the mournfully tolling bell outside. A puzzled look on her face, she crossed to the window and peered out. Burd looked out as well to the chapel. It certainly hadn't been an hour since it had last tolled and it was so slow too.

A procession of black-clad people made everything clear, "Ah, a funeral." He said, more to himself than anything. As he watched the coffin come into view, he felt a small tug at his cuirass. Lavinia was pointing towards the door, slipping on her shoes and cloak, "You don't want to see that, Lavinia." He shook his head, "It'll be really depressing."

Still, she would not give up until she got so frustrated that she tried to climb on the table to reach the door keys, "Hey!" Burd quickly tugged her down, scooping up the clinking keys, "Alright. We'll go and see it. But, on one condition. If you feel upset, you let me know and we'll come home, okay?" She nodded and all but pulled him towards the door with an enthusiasm that wasn't meant for someone about to attend a funeral. Burd hastily pulled on a black cloak and persuaded Lavinia wear her black one instead of the fur one.

They left the house and Lavinia wasted no time in hurrying up to the procession to get a good look. Burd hastened to her side, keeping a good hold on her shoulder. All the while, she stared up at the coffin being carried into the chapel and followed the line of people into the chapel. She and Burd stood at the back, half concealing themselves behind on of the pillars.

At the front of the pews, he could see Perennia Draconis and her four children. This made him remember who this funeral was for: Mr Draconis, who had, in his opinion, been nothing but a wastrel, being a burden on his family and a bad influence on his children. Why Perennia had stayed married to him was anyone's guess. Burd didn't know how he died but it was probably something stupid.

The service began and Lavinia listened raptly to the priest telling them that they were gathered here today to mourn his passing. She didn't look upset by this, just curious. He wondered if she was thinking of her father at all when she stared at the coffin. Whether she knew he was dead or clinging to the vain hope that he would return to her. He hoped that a child her age didn't understand the concept of death but he also didn't want her to believe in false hope either.

The funeral was very short, with only two hymns sung, and, when everyone was standing up, he was hailed by Perennia, "Hello, Burd." She had the appearance of attempting and failing to keep it together, "Well, you were right, weren't you? You always said he'd end up dead if he went on like this."

Swallowing his curiousity to know how exactly he died, he put a hand on her thin shoulder, "I know you loved him, Perennia. It must be hard for you."

"It's not me I'm worried about." Perennia sighed, wiping her eyes, "It's the little ones. What will they do without a father?"

Burd glanced down at the four of them. Ten-year-old Matthias with his arms folded and glaring determinedly away. Eight-year-old Andreas with his sleeve pressed to his eyes. Six-year-old Caelia keeping a firm hold on her little sister. Three-year-old Sibylla wanting to get a good look at the coffin. All four of them were now without a father, like Lavinia. At least they still had a mother in good health.

Lavinia left Burd's side at that point and purposefully crossed to Andreas. Caelia stared as she went by, making her let go of Sibylla for a moment, but Lavinia didn't look twice at them. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, like Burd had done for Perennia. His sobs stopped and he lowered his arms to stare at her as his sister had done.

Perennia looked around and gasped at the sight of the little Dunmer girl. Burd's nerves acted up again, making him think that she might share Raeniel's views on the Dunmer. However, he needn't have worried, "Oh, what a pretty little girl you are!" Lavinia inclined her head at the compliment, giving her a small but definite smile. Perennia lowered herself to a crouch, "Why, I've never seen you before. Have you just moved in?"

"That's the new girl." Caelia piped up, "The one I told you about."

Burd was filled with dread had these words. What _had_ she been telling her mother about Lavinia? "Oh, so you're Burd's girl!" Perennia smiled broadly. A small flush started at Burd's neck when he heard these words but it was a good sort of flush. At least, she showed no signs of dislike, "Well, my name's Perennia Draconis, this is Matthias-do stop sulking, Matty-, Andreas, Caelia and Sibylla."

Matthias gave Lavinia an accusing sort of glare, Andreas managed a teary smile, Caelia waved and Sibylla stared at her, _Okay, it's looking good._ Burd thought, _Maybe I could get her to make friends with Caelia, she's closest to Lavinia's age._ He opened his mouth to ask but Perennia beat him to it, "Is it alright if we all have a drink at Applewatch? I'm sure young-I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Lavinia." Burd said, quickly,

"Ah, yes. I'm sure Lavinia would love to get better acquainted with my little ones. Caelia could use a friend her own age."

Burd almost breathed a sigh of relief. That saved him a bit of time. All the way to Applewatch, though, he worried about how Lavinia would cope in a situation like that. Had his instruction to be more friendly actually gone in or would it be like school breaktime all over again?

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_Caelia_

She had only been six at the time but she remembered thinking that, when she first saw Lavinia, she looked miserable. She didn't talk at all, just stayed in the corner drawing during break. It was the same sort of misery she had felt, since that day was the day of her father's funeral. Caelia didn't notice Lavinia had attended the funeral until she left Burd's side. It was hardly surprising considering how quiet she was. She could sneak up on anyone.

She watched her cross to Andreas and put a hand on his shoulder. She had thought that she looked a little more happy than before but only a little. The fact that she was comforting Andreas surprised her so much that she let go of her little sister and had to chase after her. She remembered thinking how strange it was that she should be happy at such a sad time for Caelia.

Her mother took an immediate shine to her, as she did to every child she met. Caelia had told her about the quiet new girl before and reminded her when she was about to ask her name. If she couldn't talk to other children, there was no way she could talk to adults she didn't know. Caelia being Caelia, she had tried not to say anything bad about her when she had been telling her mother about Lavinia.

Before she knew it, her mother was inviting Burd and Lavinia back home 'for drinks' which was her words for 'getting to know each other better'. Matthias grumbled all the way, saying that Lavinia was a stupid freak who didn't even know how to talk. Andreas beat her to telling him off. Like his mother, he had taken an immediate liking to her.

Lavinia walked among them, ignoring all the audibly-whispered insults thrown her way, which Caelia was very impressed by. She knew that she would have thumped him if he had said those sort of things about her. Sibylla broke out of her sister's grasp again and was trying to reach up to touch Lavinia's hair. Matthias marched ahead in disgust and Andreas kept stubbornly by her side.

Andreas was a patient sort of person who made very firm friendships and he soon took it upon himself to persuade Lavinia into using sign language to convey what she wanted to say. Being the very kind boy he was, he also used the signs. Afterwards, Caelia supposed it was to make her feel better about using it. By the time they had reached Applewatch, they had created their own code of signs and Perennia was delighted,

"Andreas, you lovely boy!" She smiled, when they demonstrated it in front of her. Burd too looked very glad to see her making friends. The grown-ups retreated into the dining area, leaving the kids in the sleeping quarters. Though still sad from the funeral, the comfort of her dolls soon soothed it. Lavinia, however, sat on the floor, got out her drawing things and was soon at work.

Matthias wouldn't even look at her and soon stormed away, in an even worse mood than usual. It was to be expected in retrospect; he had been closest to their father after all and didn't like them being happy after his funeral. Andreas was instructed to sit still by Lavinia. Caelia played with her dolls alone. Sibylla had got hold of one of Lavinia's bunches and had begun playing with it.

It was a long time of silence, in which the sound of Lavinia's charcoal stick against the paper. Whatever she was drawing, she was really putting a lot into it. Her eyebrows were furrowed slightly and her lips were tight. When she was finished, her face relaxed and she held out the drawing to Andreas. Her older brother's face lit up when he saw it, "Wow, Lavinia!" He gasped.

He passed it to Caelia, whose mouth fell open when she saw it. An amazing drawing of Andreas was upon it, grinning broadly and holding up his hands in some sign only he knew. It looked nothing like the stick figures anyone at school drew, more like something an adult would draw. She remembered thinking that it could have come to life, it was so good.

Andreas proudly laid it on his bedside table, holding it down with a book. Sibylla was now becoming more insistant in her tugs on her hair. Just as Caelia was about to tell her to stop it, Lavinia turned and prised the smaller girl's hands off. Not harshly but firmly. She then fixed Sybilla with a hard glare which Caelia sincerely hoped she would never be under,

"You're pwetty." Sibylla said, fearlessly, in her high, childish voice, "Pwetty hair."

At this, Lavinia's face softened and she undid the ribbons in her hair so it fell in a long, wavy mass. Sibylla gave a cry of delight and immersed her hand into it. Caelia could not help but stare, the doll falling from her hand onto the floor. She could not believe that someone so silent could warm up to people so quickly.

The afternoon turned to evening. Matthias returned but sat on his bed in a strop, glaring at Lavinia as if she had done him a personal wrong. Andreas was now engaging Lavinia in a swordfight with some wooden swords their father had made. Something which infuriated Matthias even more. Caelia didn't remember much else of that day since nothing else drastic happened but she did remember something that Andreas said to Lavinia during their little battle,

"Hey! Two swords isn't fair!"

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_Burd_

Cold dread filled him as he sat before the teacher, a bruised Lavinia at his side. He didn't want to look round and see Raeniel with Saeniel sitting a foot away as the head priest explained what happened,

"...been told that the fight started when Saeniel was supposedly trying to take something Andreas Draconis was using. I have been told that Lavinia apparently came between them, trying to make him leave Andreas alone and a fight began when he would not." She ran a hand through her hair, a common habit of hers, "This is a very serious incident and one that will not be tolerated in this school, let alone this chapel."

Burd noticed Saeniel trying to kick Lavinia's shins under the table. He had a swollen lip but was a lot less hurt than she. Even if he was a Bosmer, he was bigger than she was and the fight wasn't at all fair. He forced himself to remain silent as he listened to the rest,

"The both of you are to blame for this incident. Bullying is not tolerated, Saeniel. Honorable as your intentions were, Lavinia, you should not take things into your own hands and certainly not use violence. Now, you will both be given detention and, if this sort of thing happens again, Saeniel, we may not let you attend this school again. You have been warned about this before."

"A rather shameful thing, isn't it?" drawled Raeniel, as they left, "A guard's _adopted_ daughter starting a fight."

_A rather shameful thing for a captain's son to bully other children, too._ Burd wanted to say but he held his tongue as he led Lavinia away. He made a beeline for the Mages' Guild to get her fixed, thankful that Saeniel wasn't heading the same way. He knew that Selena would make a fuss and he wasn't wrong. As soon as she saw what a state she was in, she gave a dramatic gasp and cried, "Lavinia! What happened?"

"She got into a fight." Burd said, shortly. He didn't want to get into details but,

"With whom?"

"Saeniel."

"Oh, that awful boy!" Selena immediately got to work on the bruises and bleeding, "I've always said he was a beast. That Captain Raeniel lets him get away with murder. He's got no discipline at all. Have you seen that gang he goes around with? Why someone doesn't put a stop to it, I'll never know."

That was but one incident of Lavinia's ongoing war against Saeniel. Two months after Lavinia's arrival in Bruma, she didn't come out after school. When he went in the chapel, they said that she had left from another exit and wasn't carrying her bag. Panic began to settle in him at that point and he raced all around Bruma in less than fifteen minutes searching for her. Nowhere could he find her.

He was passing his house for the second time when he noticed the door was ajar and the curtains of Lavinia's window were closed. Hoping against hope, he threw open the door and glanced around. Not in the dining area. He flung himself around the corner into Lavinia's room. She wasn't there either. The dust on the dolls and rocking horse was untouched, the wooden sword Andreas had given her was unmoved from its place and the growing pile of drawings was still as large as it was that morning.

As he was catching his breath and quiet fell again, he heard a small sound from the place. Something muffled but very clear. It was the sound of someone crying. Getting down on his hands and knees, Burd searched under the bed. A dark shape was there, hunched up into a ball, "Lavinia?"

The sobbing stopped abruptly and a pair of red eyes (even redder now) jerked up. She hurriedly pulled herself out and tried to run past him, clutching her bag to her chest. Burd caught her and sat her down on the bed. Even when she stopped struggling, she kept her head down and would not look at him, "Lavinia. Lavinia, what's the matter?" Burd implored her, trying to get a look at her face.

In doing so, he looked down at her bag and gasped. The tassels had been torn off, the strap slashed and the whole thing was so dirty that it might have been dragged through the mud. He managed to prise it from her grip and looked inside. He gaped in horror. The charcoal stick was smashed to powder. All the drawings she had done that week were covered in ink, ripped to pieces or scribbled all over. All her hard work ruined,

"God's blood!" He managed out. Lavinia drew her knees up to her chest, clutching her hair. As she did, he noticed more bruises on her arms and he knew instantly what had happened, "Was it Saeniel? Did he do this?"

Lavinia did not nod or shake her head but was beginning to make new noises other than her sobs. Burd's eyes widened as she looked up and opened her mouth, "He...stole it. When I was talking to Andy...he took it. He left this." She held out a small note on a scrap of parchment, saying, _If you want your precious bag back, meet us behind the chapel after school,_ "I went and he was there. Him and his gang. Two held me back and Saeniel started...he started wr-wrecking it."

"Lavinia..." Burd could barely believe his ears. Lavinia's voice was somewhat deeper than a child's norm and quieter but very clear what she was saying, "...you-you spoke..." A fresh wave of sobs snapped him out of his shock, "I mean...don't worry, Lavinia. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Why-why does he hate me, then?" She wailed, lowering her hands to pick mournfully through the remains of her drawings,

"He's-he's just a bully." Burd decided on in the end. He couldn't tell her how prejudiced he was against Dunmers, that would probably make her feel worse. Not being able to bear seeing her so upset anymore, he wrapped his arms around her tiny body and held her tight, "Don't worry, Lavinia. He'll be expelled for certain for this. You'll never see him again."

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A/N: Lavinia speaks at last! I hope I did Caelia's part well, I'm a bit doubtful about that.


	23. Chapter 22: Troubles in Bruma

A/N: Yay! I'm past the 100 reviews mark! Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to review Broken Daggers and keep up the good work!

**Lily Ariel Black:** Don't we all hate bullies?

**The Lone Eagle: **Saeniel is stupid, isn't he?

**nitro-pino: **I'm taking a bit of creative licence and cutting out the contract against the Draconis Family altogether. There's no way Lavinia would fulfill even if I didn't.

**maskedpainter: **Lavinia might get a bit upset at us not telling her there is a Lucien Lachance shrine but I think she'll be flattered its existance.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **You gotta love adding a few subtle hints! It's amazing how quickly people pick up on them.

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 22: Troubles of Bruma**

Burd could tell she was angry. Lavinia was glaring up at him with a stare that made his legs lock in place, "Uhm...morning, Lavinia."

"Where's Father's chest of swords?" She demanded, folding her arms. Burd broke out in a cold sweat against his own bidding. He hadn't expected her to find out so quickly or react so badly. She barely looked at the treasures Polixones had left him, which now resided in an empty room on the lower floor. Or, so he thought. He thought that, since it was a year since she had last seen her father and never mentioned me, it might be alright to sell some of it.

A guard's pay was not enough to keep their house and he would not have Lavinia sharing the guardhouse. So, he had sold a chest of swords he and Polixones had got from raiding a high ruin. Though he did not want to, he sold it to a travelling trader. It had been right at the back of the room and the trader had left on the same day so how on earth did Lavinia notice?

Yet again, he felt like their roles were reversed. Lavinia had this innate gift to make him feel like the naughty kid and made her look like the authoritative adult. She was doing it now, making him feel even more guilty about selling something belonging to her father without asking, "I, ah, just moved it." He tried, testing the waters. He had tried not to lie to her but this sounded better than outright telling her that it was gone,

"Where?"

It was no good. It was clear that she was seeing through it, "Well...uh...you see...Lavinia...you're not going to like me for this but...well...erm..." He found himself scratching the back of his neck with nerves and tried to stop himself. He was twice as big as her after all and he shouldn't be so nervous, "...I-I sold it."

A look of thunder appeared on her face. Her hair seemed to stand up a little on its own as though it were alive with the same anger she felt, "Why?" Her voice was that of a strained calm one would never hear in a normal child's voice,

"You see...the pay for a guard isn't great and...it's not enough to keep the house..." There was no point in sugar-coating it, Lavinia would not appreciate it, "...If you want to stay here...we have to make some sacrifices..."

"My father said," Her voice was becoming more and more emotional by the moment, while her tiny fists shook, "that you could sell anything so long as you don't lose me. But, my father," Her glare hardened and she raised her fists as though ready to punch him. Her voice rose to a half-shout, "_is dead! He can't speak for those things so I will! I won't let you sell them! They're Father's!_"

"Lavinia!" Burd knelt and tried to take hold of her hands, "Hey, there's no need for that! Come on," He tried his best not to shout but she was becoming more and more upset every second,

"_They're Father's! They're Father's!_"

"_Lavinia!_" This time, he had no choice but to raise his voice, "_Do you want to share a room with the guards? Do you want to see Raeniel and Saeniel every day? Because, that's what'll happen if we can't pay the rent on this place!_" He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Her eyes were filled with tears and a nagging sensation told him that he had caused that, "Look," He tried, no longer shouting, "I'll tell you what, come down to the basement and pick something you want to keep."

"And, ask me before you sell anything else!" She added, jabbing a finger up at him in such a way that made him jump,

"Ah...sure." He nodded, awkwardly. With her nose in the air, she marched down to the basement. Flabbergasted, Burd followed her, _Where on earth did she get this attitude from?_ He wondered. The sweet, silent girl he had taken into the Cyrodiil had become stubborn and (there was no better word for it) bossy. He blamed the Draconis boys and Volanaro. If she made friends with boys, she would be forced to act like one just to fit in,

_It's not right._ He thought, as she entered the room, _If she acts like that, she'll get herself into trouble and Polixones will never forgive me for that. I need to encourage her to be more girlish._ As these decisions went through his head, Lavinia began foraging through the room. He panicked when she approached the swords but she passed them after giving them a good look.

At last, she came to a glass-covered case which had remarkably survived the journey without a crack. Fingering through the many jewellery boxes, she finally picked one up. A little wooden black one with no embellishes or remarkable decoration at all, "Are you sure?" Burd asked, eyeing a set of dresses which would fit her perfectly when she got older,

"I'm sure." She nodded, passing the dresses without a second glance, "But, Burd, remember what I said. You tell me before you sell anything. I thought someone had stolen the swords before. You made me panic."

_A six year old is NOT meant to talk like this!_ Burd thought, for what felt like the thousandth time, _She's getting more like her dad by the minute. Polixones, what DID you teach her?_ He felt that this was another one of those practical jokes Polixones loved playing. Like he was channeling his spirit through his daughter, making her act like him.

As she picked up her new bag (a bright red one with embroidered flames licking the sides), Burd wondered how to encourage her to be less boyish. Since she was talking, she was surely able to make some friends with the girls. Perhaps he could try persuading her to go to an after school club again. Last time he tried persuading her, she had quite firmly refused. She would go to the Mages' Guild to see Volanaro or to Applewatch to see the Draconis family but she would not stay in the school a minute longer than she had to.

They walked to the chapel side by side and, as she greeted Andreas Draconis, he began examining the notice board for anything likely to put her in close contact with other girls her age, _Let's see, drawing...no, she doesn't like being told what to draw...sewing...no, she tried that in Applewatch and hated it...hmm, ballet..._ That was one thing she hadn't tried,

"Thinking of putting Lavinia in an after-school class too, are you?" Burd jumped at the sound of Perennia's voice behind him, "Yes, I was thinking about putting Caelia in the ballet class. She's becoming rather too boyish for her own good."

"I know. So's Lavinia."

"It's because she has older brothers." Perennia went on, "She doesn't have any older girls that she can look up to or play with so she just takes after them to fit in. Perhaps it's the same with Lavinia. I don't mind her being friends with Andreas, of course, but you don't want her to forget that she's a girl. And, it'll be the perfect opportunity to get together with some of the other little girls here."

"Yeah." Burd nodded, as he wrote Lavinia's name down on one of the spaces at the bottom of the poster, "I'm glad Caelia'll be there. At least, she'll know someone."

"You're not going to ask us if we want that, then?" Again, Burd jumped at the voice behind him. How could he be a guard and let someone sneak up on him? Then again, Lavinia's footsteps made little more noise than a cat's and it was easy for someone so small. She glared up at him accusingly, the same way she had that morning...and just like Polixones would if he changed an arrangement without asking,

"Just try it, Lavinia." Burd knelt down so they were looking eye-to-eye, "Just to see if you like it, okay? And, Caelia will be there. You won't be on your own."

Lavinia actually raised an eyebrow and Burd wondered if she had overheard him sharing his desire for her to be more girlish, "I'll ask Caelia if she had a say in this." And she walked off. She didn't look up at Perennia or say a goodbye to Burd. Her annoyance left him feeling guilty and wishing he'd had the sense to ask her. But her name was on the poster now and there was no way of turning back,

"She _has_ become a little madam, hasn't she?" Perennia shook her head, "I blame that Volanaro. You should stop her going to the Mages' Guild, he's a bad influence on her."

"She won't hear a word of it." Burd shook his head. He had tried to make her stay away from the Mages' Guild but she had become too attached to Volanaro that she ignored his every effort to make her choose to go somewhere else,

"Well," Perennia smiled, "I hope that she'll make so many friends at ballet that she forgets all about him."

Somehow, Burd didn't think that would be the case. When he came to pick her up, she was still in a bad mood with him, not even looking at him or answering him. As though in defiance of him, she waved merrily at Volanaro and called out to him as he passed. Burd quickened his footsteps to take her past him and prevent any chance of her stopping to talk to him.

When they reached home, she retreated instantly to her room without a word. Peeking around the screen, he found her opening the black box. From it, she pulled out long white ribbons with clinking silver rings tied to the ends. Picking up the brush, she headed straight for the mirror. This scene gave Burd new hope that she still had some girlish instincts in her.

Seemingly without needing help as always, she drew her hair into a high ponytail with a braid on either side of her face as though this was second nature. When she had finished, Burd smiled, "You look lovely." She did not answer or look at him. Burd sighed, "Look, I know you're upset with me."

"You don't like Volanaro." She said, bluntly, "Why not?"

"Ah..." Burd felt himself flush. He knew saying what he really thought would probably just upset her or get her even more angry, "...it's just...he's a bit of a joker and, well, that's okay, but...he can take jokes a bit too far and hurt people..." This wasn't strictly true but he had heard of him and J'skar picking on a fellow associate, "...I don't want you getting involved in that..."

"He only plays pranks on Jeanne and a few others." Lavinia objected, "And, I don't join in."

"Well, he shouldn't." Burd answered, "Anyway," Not liking the subject, he quickly changed it, "I know you're cross with me for signing you up but I'm sure you'll like ballet."

"What exactly _is _ballet?" She asked, an eyebrow raised.

Burd blinked in surprise at this, "You don't know?"

"No." She shook her head, making the braids fly side to side and the rings jingle,

"You assumed you wouldn't like it even though you don't know what it is?"

"I didn't like you not asking me if that was okay, not the ballet itself. So, come on. What is it?"

Burd awkwardly described as best as he could what it was, seeing that she was becoming less and less impressed with every word. Though, she did become interested in the stories the ballet described and Burd made a mental note to buy some books about them. She might be more interested if she knew the stories. Speaking of books...

She left the mirror and sat on the bed with the big book before her once again. Burd sat beside her and attempt to read it over her shoulder again. Amazingly, she did not snap it shut as she normally did but kept it open as though he wasn't there. He could now read every word on the page...and recognise the handwriting. It was Polixones' writing for certain. No one else's was that spiky or uneven.

His writing formed a script, a play script. He vaguely recognised the words of a famous playwright the teachers kept going on about. He had forgotten the name; he'd never really paid attention or understood the words. It was all as unintelligible as Ayleid runes to him but she seemed to have no problem with it. Her eyes flicked back and forth without a pause and she turned the pages with equal pauses between them,

"Do you like that?" He asked. She flicked her head around to him, whacking him in the chin with the rings, "Your father wrote that, didn't he?" She blinked in surprise, "Yeah, I know. I'd recognise that handwriting anywhere. Mind if I have a look at the title page?" She readily marked her page and let him flick to the front page.

Upon the page was written in a clear hand that was not Polixones':

_Our Favourite Works_

_by Polixones (Father), Desdamona (Mother), Ophelia (Sister) and Martius (Brother)_

_May you cherish it always, Lavinia, and let it inspire you in years to come._

Underneath was a little pouch of parchment attached to the page with little squares of paper inside. He pulled them out and looked through them. Upon them were sketches of people, one to each square. This was clearly some of Polixones' drawings; he could tell by the initials 'PH' in the bottom right-hand corner. Lavinia clearly got her talent from her father and he wondered if he had taught her when they had been on the run.

They were drawings of her family, all labelled with captions underneath. Polixones in his elven armour, Desdamona in her best dress, Martius in his steel armour and Ophelia in her boyish clothes. All were headed with the same sentence in their own varying handwriting: _So, you don't forget us! _Burd felt a small lump rise in his throat. It was so like Polixones to do this and he had clearly passed it on to his family. He wondered if he read this to her during the nights.

He opened it to a list of contents. Skimming down the list, he saw familiar names of famous texts and authors. He knew full well how educated Polixones had been; his father had apparently been of great wealth and thus given him the best teaching money could buy in Morrowind. Or, so he'd been told. He had the impression that Polixones didn't really appreciate most of the lessons he receiving, calling such things as advanced maths and politics 'utterly useless in my brain'.

Desdamona had liked reading though and this must have rubbed off on the others. He supposed that she had chosen most of the things there. How much time and effort must it have taken to copy every word of this thick book just for Lavinia's benefit?

"Are you done?" Lavinia's voice broke into his thoughts, "I want to get back to reading."  
"Oh, right. Yeah, I have." She turned back to the page and continued her reading, "Do you like this one?" Burd asked, after an awkward silence,

"Yes." She nodded, turning a page, "I especially like the part when she is reunited with her brother."

A small pull of the heartstrings occurred within him at these words, when he thought of the parallel between her and the character in the play. Perhaps she was still entertaining fantasies that her father might come back someday and she would be reunited with him.

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_Narina_

"Mistress!" The nurse bustled into her room in her usual intruding way, "Come along, now. Time for your lessons."

"Must I, nurse?" sighed Narina, tossing back a few strands of hair, "I hate having to learn about politics."

"Come now, come now, you know you must! You're next in line to the throne of Bruma, after all. Now, away to your teachers! Make haste!"

Groaning in resignation, Narina pulled herself off the bed and marched out with the nurse. Cyrodiilic politics had to be the most boring and tedious subject ever and there was no avoiding it due to the fact that she was 'next in line to the throne of Bruma', something she was heartily sick of hearing, _Ruling over a town must be easy enough. Why do I have to learn about what my ancestors did? Whoever said that nobles could do as they pleased is a rotten liar._

She grumpily marched across the corridor and through the door to the main hall. Once there, she could hear voices. Her father, the Count's, voice. He was sitting lazily in the throne as always (in a way that Narina would have been smacked for doing) with a young girl before him. She was standing the more properly with her back straight and her head held high in the way that Narina was always told. But, she was younger than Narina was. Only about six or seven at the very most.

The Count was laughing at her as though she had told him an extremely amusing joke but her face was completely straight and serious. The nurse leaned into one of the servants and ask who it was, "That's Burd's girl." The servant informed her, "The little Dunmer he brought into town a year ago."

The girl put back her hood, showing that she was indeed a Dunmer. Narina had only ever seen pictures of them in textbooks before but those could never have prepared her for seeing one in the flesh. The black and white ink illustrations gave the impression of them have dull grey skins like ash and dark hair. Her skin was a clear purple hue and her hair was a bright fiery orange. She was not anything Narina expected.

Looking around, the Count spotted her, "Narina, my girl. Come here and see this audacious little thing." Frowning slightly, she strode over to the throne and stood beside him. The Count was a fat, spoilt man, part Imperial, part Nord with nothing handsome or desirable about him in Narina's eyes. She had been told by her mother that he was much more good-looking and pleasant in his youth. She had been told that just before her mother had walked out of Castle Bruma and out of her life.

She felt the familiar disgust she always did when she was close to the man she called father. She always wished that he had been the one who left instead of the sweet, kind woman that was her mother. Instead of forcing herself to look at him, she glared at the girl. The girl had a hard, determined look on her face, as though she had been wishing to do this her entire life,

"She honestly wants me to-hic, 'scuse me-to increase the wages of my guards because, ah, what was it again, girl?"

"Some of the guards have families and can't pay for them." She had a quiet but steady sort of voice and her determination never faltered, "They have to sell personal possessions that mean the most to them to keep a home to raise their children. Burd is among them. Just last week, he sold something that belonged to my father that was very precious to him and me to keep our house."

"So, your Burd isn't paid enough, is he?"

"That's right, sir." She nodded and it was clear she was being honest. It was a sincere request and not something that ought to be laughed at. In fact, it was a very fair proposition in Narina's eyes. The Count could certainly spare it judging by the amount of taxpayer's money that was wasted on his drinking and other sordid habits. Yet, he just threw back his head and laughed like the Nords did in Olav's Tap and Tack,

"Well, you know what that means, don't you?" He sneered, "That Burd isn't working hard enough to earn that kind of money."

Narina's lips tightened. That was not in the least bit fair. She knew that only guards who had been in service for more than two years were eligible for a pay rise and, if she knew it, he certainly did. She wanted to interrupt and remind him but held her tongue, knowing it was improper. The girl in front of them showed no signs of defeat or even belief,

"It's not just Burd who isn't earning enough." She stated,

"Well, then, I have an army of layabouts, don't I?" He sneered, inciting another sting of rage in Narina as the Count turned up to her, "Can you believe this girl? She walks in here like she owns the place and asks me something like this! Narina, m'girl, you'll get a load of idiots like this one in here so watch what I do to them. Raeniel!"  
The door opened and the Bosmer entered. Raeniel's ugly wrinkled face made her blood boil and she could see the other servants looking away in disgust. He had an awful reputation and an attitude to match. Of course, he showed all proper respect to the Count, he would not be captain otherwise, but he was thoroughly unpleasant company to be with.

This was demonstrated when he put on his oily smile and bowed low to the Count, "How may I serve, most honourable Count?"

The Count's fat lips flicked up in a nasty smile. Narina could see why they got on so well; they were as bad as each other, "There's an insolent little whelp here who thinks she can tell a Count what's best for his city."

Raeniel took one look at the girl and his face worsened. She remembered how much he liked to go out about how he hated the Dunmer race and how much he must despise her, "I will act your will, good Count." With that, he grabbed the girl roughly by the shoulder and began to drag her out,

"Oh, yeah." The Count levered himself upright with what looked like too much effort for any fit man, "One more thing, girly. You wait until you're a bit older and a thousand times smarter before you come in my presence again. I don't listen to people who are half my size and a millionth of my importance."

Narina's eyes met the girl's as she was dragged from the hall. There was no trace of disappointment, only more determination. It was clear that she would not give up on this. Her resolve was admirable and Narina felt a sort of comradeship with her. They both disapproved of her father's way of ruling and knew it was unfair. She tried to communicate this to the girl without actually speaking. She gave a small nod and gave her a serious expression. The other got the message and she nodded back just as the door closed between them,

"Ah!" The Count sighed, reclining back again, "I'd pay that Burd double to keep that girl of his under control. Of all the cheek and impudence!"

Narina, having had enough, turned around briskly and walked back to the nurse, with all intentions of going to her lesson and being away from that man.

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The brave little girl had left a lasting impression upon her all through the day. She now despised the Count more than ever. How dare he be rude to such a polite and proper girl? She was taught that it was the way every noble should act and yet her father did nothing of the sort. It made her despise her lessons even more as well. If commoners were the ones who used it and the nobles were the vulgar ones, why did she have to learn it?

She could not sleep that night. Her bad mood was keeping her awake. In the end, she could not bear tossing around in bed and got up. It was dark outside and the chapel had struck midnight a good half-an-hour ago. The castle was quiet, except the faint disgusting sounds of her father snoring. Slipping on her shoes, she pulled on a fur-lined dress and a cloak (the nights were dreadfully cold) and sneaked out of her room.

This was a habit of hers. When she was furious enough at her father, she had to get out. She hated the stifling air of her home. In it, she was nothing but the next in line, the one whom everyone expected to be like her father, _If I am to be expected to be a bone-headed, self-centred, uncaring, vulgar fool, then I don't want to be the next Countess of Bruma._

The guards were all just sitting at desks, reading the Black Horse Courier and too engrossed in it to notice her as always. Her silk shoes made it easy to creep past them like a ghost. The front door though had more attentive guards and she had to use the pantry door. Nobody was there except the fat ginger cat that, like its master, was too busy minding his own indulgences to worry about what was going on around him.

Running outside, she immediately felt the cold of the snow on her shoes. Though good for sneaking out of the castle, it was no good for walking in snow. It was little better than being barefoot, _Curse this snow!_ She stomped upon it, doing nothing but making it soak even further into her shoes. She was getting close to the chapel. Its dark windows looked like tall black holes in the starless night.

The houses around the chapel were plain log cabins which Narina wished she could help make into proper houses. The poorer people would be much better off if her father wasn't so self-centred. In fact, everyone would be much better off if he wasn't so self-centred. Like that girl. Speaking of her...

She saw the house that she thought must belong to Burd, her guardian. She had asked her teacher for a map and a diagram of who lived in which house, pretending it was a hypothetical question. Being the naive idiot he was, he thought she was just showing an interest in the geography of the town and had proceeded to give her a lecture of the history of the architecture that she knew she would never need or want to need.

Swallowing the irritation of the memory, she gazed into the dark windows, wondering if the little girl was behind them. Her eyes wondered upwards to the roof and she jumped to see a dark shape upon it. A hooded figure, like the pictures in adventure novels of thieves and assassins. It sat upon the peak of the roof, its small legs swinging carelessly from it,

"Oh!" A small cry came from within the hood. It was so quiet that it could have been mistaken for the sound of the wind. The hood was pulled back and the girl's fiery hair spilled out,

"It's you!" gasped Narina. Her initial shock at seeing the very person she was thinking about was replaced with surprise at seeing her in such a place. Drawing herself up as far as her ten-year-old body would permit and holding up her head, she called up, "What are you doing up there? You'll hurt yourself doing that!" She was talking like her mother and she knew it. She would rather imitate her that the drunken lout in the castle, _I'm not doing a good job, though._ She thought, knowing she was not getting several key things right. Like height and voice,

"I like being up here." The girl answered, showing her that she had none of her mother's talent of making people submit to her, "I've been coming up here at night for months. Do you want to come here?" Her voice was perfectly friendly and polite, something that would never normally come out of a six year old. Without waiting for an answer, she pointed a finger to a large stone beside the house, "Climb onto that rock, reach up, grab onto the gutter and pull yourself up."

Narina felt tempted to do so. She had never climbed onto a roof before. The furthest she'd ever climbed was onto the low chandelier in the dining room when she was eight. A childish thrill went through her at the thought but, in the end, she put her dignity before her temptations, "It's not proper for a heir to climb on a grimy roof." She said, sticking her nose in the air, hoping to look impressive. Again, this didn't work and the girl put her head to one side,

"No one's going to see you. No one sees me. You don't have to act like an heir all the time, do you?"

_That's a good argument._ She thought. Looking left and right for guards, she finally gave in and approached the large rock. It was covered in snow, making it extra slippery. Her silk shoes had no grip either, making it even harder. Narina spent a whole minute trying to get on top of it and, by that time, was dreading having to get onto the log roof.

She needn't have worried however. The girl had moved from her perch down to the edge and was holding out her hand, "Do you need some help?"

"I'm bigger than you." Narina pointed out, "I'll just pull you down."

"It's okay. I'll stay on." She reassured her and, sure enough, after a bit of scrambling, Narina was on the roof of Burd's house. The wood was just as slippery and rotted at the edges, making her wrinkle her nose and wish she hadn't worn her best cloak. Lavinia (she now remembered her name all of a sudden), however, didn't seem bothered by it. She was wearing a thick, well-worn cloak and sturdy boots but underneath was a thin white nightgown.

They climbed up to the top where Lavinia had been sitting before. It wasn't much of a view; the guildhalls and the chapel blocked most of it, though one could get a very clear sight of the West Gate, "Why do you like being here?" Narina asked, scowling as she tried to get comfortable on the uneven wood,

"I just do." Lavinia shrugged, "I do every night."  
"Don't you Dunmers sleep?"

"Yeah." Her expression darkened at the generalisation, "I just sleep at different times. Like, during class."

This comment made Narina's mood lift a little, "You get bored too?"

"Oh, yes. Like, during maths, geography and religion. You?"

"Maths too. But, I find religion fascinating." Narina added a little pride in her voice, just to remind the girl who she was talking to,

"Some of the stories are okay." Lavinia shrugged again, "I just don't find it that interesting. I don't find school or chapel-going interesting."

Narina felt a small twinge of annoyance and offence at her offhand tone. She loved going to chapel and praying to the gods (mostly asking them to rid the place of the Count), "You should." She said, in a reprimanding tone,

"Burd always says that. The chapel's pretty but, if the Divines loved us..." She turned her head to the sky, "...why did they make Father die?"

The annoyance vanished abruptly, replaced with mortification that she might have upset her. But no tears were upon the little girl's face. Narina was baffled; she had cried rivers when her mother had left without her and she had been older than Lavinia when it had happened. As these words sank in, the feeling of comradeship between her and the Dunmer girl intensified,

"I felt that way when Mother left."

Lavinia looked around to stare at her face, "Your mother left? Why?" There was no nonchalance in her tone, just sympathy,

"My father." Narina scowled at having to call him that, "She hated him. _I _hate him."

"No, you don't."

"_What do you mean?_" Her voice sharpened as anger came into her again. She hated being contradicted at the best of times,

"He's your father. You can't hate him."

"But, I do! He's mean, he's greedy, he only thinks for himself. You must know! You talked to him today!"

"You're still here." Lavinia said, with too much seriousness in her voice for a six-year-old, "If you hated him, you would have run off long ago."

Narina could not deny that she felt like doing just that more than once, "I would be a beggar if I did."

"If you hated him, you wouldn't mind that."

Scowling, she glared down at the roof. She hated talking about the Count and this girl didn't know a thing about him,

"What's that?"

Lavinia pointed at the glittering bracelet on her right wrist, "That's the Jewel of the Tiger. An ancient Akaviri artifact that Mother left me with. She loved Akaviri artifacts."

"You really love your mother, don't you. You were wearing it this afternoon."

"Well, yes." It was truly frightening how unchild-like Lavinia really was. She had been amazed at how dignified and proper she had been when talking to the Count, "She liked Akaviri artifacts." Talking about her mother so much brought back all the memories over her. Lavinia was right, she really did love her. Before she could stop herself, she snarled, "Why did it have to be her that left? Why couldn't it have been him? Bruma would be a better place without him!" She was ranting on before she could stop herself, "Why do I have learn about how to behave properly when he can get away with the things he does?"

"So, you can be better than he is." Lavinia's voice made her remember where she was and her face flushed at the realisation that she had just said all of that out loud. She stared at the Dunmer, "You're learning how to be a good Countess so you can do better than him when he dies."

Narina couldn't believe her ears. She was ten-years-old, had all the breeding and education of a noble and now ranting like a child while she, who was just over half her age and size with no breeding or a top-notch education, being the voice of reason.

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A/N: Bruma is kinda screwed, isn't it?


	24. Chapter 23: Harmless Mischief

A/N: This'll probably be the last update before I go to uni. My first day of uni is coming up!

**Killer of MarySues: **Thanks!

**Miss Lieress: **Ah, the joys of colouring on the walls. I'm glad you think I'm developing the characters well.

**The Lone Eagle: **You're completely free to worship Lucien if you like. I do intend to give him a big part in later chapters.

**BloodandDiamonds: **Yep, she really was born with the power to make people feel nervous, wasn't she?

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 23: Harmless Mischief**

_Caelia_

Her mother sank back into her chair at the news from the Bruma guard. Lavinia had been found alive and well by the mages from the Bruma guild. The news had just begun to sink in and she began to feel so glad to know she was alright when she hurried to tell the others. Andreas was beside himself with joy and Sibylla (though too young to understand what a disappearance meant) shared this joy. Matthias looked neither displeased nor pleased at the news. He had taken to ignoring Lavinia now, pretending she wasn't there.

Lavinia had vanished five days ago. Caelia had been one of the last to see her creeping out of the ballet hall when the lesson was about to start. She remembered wanting to go with her. She hated ballet; it was pointless and too girly for her tastes. She now regretted it; she might have been able to see where she had gone if she hadn't been a bit more brave. But, now, there was no point regretting it. It didn't matter. Lavinia was back and nothing had happened.

The next day, Lavinia came to Applewatch with Burd. She looked as though she knew had never vanished. Caelia had expected her to cling a bit more to Burd after her experience but she didn't do a thing differently. Burd too didn't seem angry at her but he kept a very close hold on her as they came in. Caelia knew that her mother would probably not allow her out for a week if she vanished like that. Andreas was dying to know what had happened and where she had been as soon as she was left with them,

"Where were you? How did you get out of Bruma?"

"I sneaked out before ballet class." She said, setting down her bag and beginning to riffle through the pages as she talked, "I couldn't stand another class so I decided to just go. Then, I hid in the Mages' Guild caravan in one of those big chests."  
"You hid in a _chest?_" repeated Caelia, glancing at her mother's big chest of clothes that she kept by the door. She had never tried to get in it and she didn't think she would fit. She wondered how on earth Lavinia could have got into something like that. Then again, she was smaller than her by a few inches and she might be able to get in if she really curled up tight. Even then, it had to be so uncomfortable,

"Wasn't it really uncomfortable?" Andreas voiced what Caelia was thinking,

"A bit." She shrugged, as though this didn't matter, "But, they stopped in Skingrad for a few days. It's so pretty there, you wouldn't believe." She took out a big wad of papers and put them on the floor in front of her. On top of the pile was a sketch of a path splitting what looked like a vineyard in two with a setting sun behind it. It was a very beautiful scene indeed, the sort she only saw in textbooks.

The sketches were circled around the room for them to admire. Even Matthias became interested and had a peek over Andreas' shoulder, "I only went out at night so I couldn't really draw anything in the day." Lavinia went on. Caelia blinked in surprise. She was afraid of going outside Applewatch at night, let alone a new and strange city,

"That's stupid." Matthias snapped, folding his arms, "Going out at night. You must be mental."

"Nothing happened." Lavinia shrugged, offhandly, as though this didn't matter, "I wore my hood and stayed in the shadows. No one saw me. I took a sword from one of the packs in case something did."

"You _are_ mental." Matthias shook his head, "Weren't you worried about people coming out and kidnapping you?"

"I was worried about the guards catching me but, they didn't. I even got out of the city without them noticing." Then, she began searching through the drawings as the four of them were left to marvel at what she had said. Matthias was part right; going out at night was scary and dangerous. Going out the city and into the wilderness was just insane. How on earth did she manage to get back in one piece and unscathed? Did the mages know she was there and go with her?

Why on earth did she want to go out of the safety of the city under her own steam anyway? Didn't she care about the things that could happen to her? She certainly acted as though she didn't. She had never met anyone like Lavinia: so willing to overlook the prospect of danger and to experience new places without fear of consequences or risk. She was a year younger than Caelia but she seemed like someone so much older.

Before she could ask, she drew out four drawings and held one out to each of them. She even gave one to Matthias, who took it with suspicion on his face. Upon them was the picture of a picked flower of some kind. The one Caelia was given showed a pale flower with wide leaves around it. Underneath was the caption _Primrose_,

"I wanted to take the flowers to you but they wilted too quickly." She explained, in the same matter-of-fact tone, "You never see these in Bruma so I wanted to show you. When they wilted, I decided to just draw them. I picked out the ones that suited you all."

Matthias pulled a face but said nothing, only stuffing the drawing roughly in his pocket. Andreas looked rather pleased with it and placed it neatly on his bedside table beside the first one she did for him. Sibylla seemed to absolutely love hers and gave Lavinia a big hug to say thank you, which Lavinia was very flattered by. Caelia smiled but wondered why she had thought a primrose suited her.

One of the drawings caught her eye and she seperated them from the rest. It was a picture of a plucked tiger lily on what might be a table. On a stroke of inspiration, she pushed it towards Lavinia, "That one can be yours." She said,

"Why?" Lavinia blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this,

"Well..." Caelia thought about it, trying to piece together the right words, "...it's the same colour as your hair and..."

"It stands out." Andreas said, for her.

A small dark blush appeared on Lavinia's cheeks and she gave a flattered sort of smile, "Well, thank you."

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_Burd_

"Why do you always get involved in fights?" Burd asked, trying to keep his voice from rising in the face of the defiant, bruised eight-year-old girl before him, "You know the teachers are there to stop this sort of thing. Why don't you tell them about it?"

"Because they _don't _stop this kind of thing." Lavinia insisted, without a pause, "Even if they did, by the time they take me seriously and decide to do something about it, it's already got out of hand and people are hurt. If I go and get involved, it stops a lot more quickly."  
"But, you get hurt!" Burd protested, exasperatedly, for what felt like the hundredth time. His efforts to make Lavinia more girlish and ladylike were so far to no avail. Within a few weeks, she found that she despised ballet, saying that the clothes were too tight and it was boring. She liked the stories behind the plays but nothing else. It was strange because, at the few shows he had seen her perform in, she seemed very good at it.

He was told later by her ballet mistress that she tried her best when performing in front of an audience but, at every other time, she didn't. So, he kept her at it, in the vain hope that she would start to like it once she saw she was good at it and people liked her for it, to her increasing chagrin. Apparently, Caelia felt the same way about them but, unlike Lavinia, she wasn't very good at it so she had good reason.

All the while, she was getting into more trouble at school. Frequent complaints from her teachers kept coming in through letters and meetings saying that she was uninterested and inattentive with her classes, especially during maths, history and religious studies. She was gaining a smart mouth which materialised seemingly out of nowhere (she certainly didn't get it from him) and wasn't afraid to use it on teachers or other children.

Worst of all, she kept getting herself into trouble. She didn't start fights as such but rushed to the defence of others at risk to herself. Even with Saeniel long gone, there were still a handful of bullies in the classes. That was what the bruises he now counted were from. An older Nord boy had been apparently threatening Sibylla, who had only just started at the classes, and Lavinia had defended her fiercely, taking many blows from the boy until Andreas finally had the good sense to get the teacher,

"I had to." Lavinia repeated, doggedly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "He was picking on Sibylla and no one was doing a thing about it."

"You're _meant_ to go to the teacher and they'll sort it out." Burd sighed, "Lavinia, even if it's not the best thing to do, it's better than getting yourself involved. Now, promise me you won't do anything like that again."

"But, I don't know if it'll happen again." She said, simply, without a single hint of regret, "What if something worse happens?"

"You go and _tell someone_." Burd's head began to ache, _Whoever said that children act the way they do because of the way they're brought up are liars. She's acting just like her father would in this situation. Polixones, why did you curse her with this if you didn't want her to get hurt? _He groaned and stood up, taking the whistling kettle from the stove. Behind him, Lavinia began chanting the healing spell she had learned from Selena, who had taught her the spell after one trip to heal her bruises too many.

When he had set down their steaming cups of tea, she was almost completely healed. As soon as she had her cup, she reached for the sugar bowl and began spooning heaped piles into the liquid, "That's enough, Lavinia." Burd commanded, as the third spoonful hovered over the tea, "It's bad for your teeth." She paused for a moment, then tilted the spoon almost in defiance so the white grain fell in to disappear within the liquid.

She left it at that, though, and began to stir it in hard silence. Burd swallowed nervously. Over the days, a definite animosity was growing between them. Not that he deliberately contributed to it but he felt that she was disliking him all of a sudden. She hardly ever told him how her day was anymore and he had to rely on the teacher's word to know if anything had happened.

Though he worried about her behaviour towards him, it was clear that she was not going back to the way she was when she first arrived three years ago. She was social in her own way towards other children like the Draconis family and, he recently discovered, Narina Carvain. She would even play with a few select adults; those being Volanaro and J'skar.

To try and calm himself so he could think it over, he took a gulp of tea...and choked. His mouth burned but not from the scalding hot water. It felt as though his tongue had been rubbed with chili powder. As his eyes watered, Lavinia began laughing into her hands. Grinning at his expression, she delved into her pocket and drew out a small bottle of reddish liquid with a parchment label, waving it tauntingly before him.

Grasping it, he glared at the label, panting to try and get some of the heat out. Upon the label were the words 'Vivec Chili Pepper Sauce' and 'Very Hot, Use Sparingly'. Astonished and angered by this cruel prank, he stared at her as she grinned proudly. Seeing his scandalised expression, she sang, "Oh, Burd, it was only a little joke!"

"That's not f-funny!" He gasped. Wishing he didn't have to do this, he stood up so he was above her, pointed at the screen that divided the dining room from her room and said, in the serious voice he could with his tongue burning, "Go to your room!"

With no regret of her 'little joke', she hopped off her seat and strode into her room, out of sight. Burd quickly drew some water and glugged it greedily, which served to cool his mouth and his head a little. He wished he didn't have to punish her, that he didn't have to be nasty to her. Burd wondered where that sweet, quiet little girl he had brought back to Bruma from the mountains dividing Cyrodiil and Morrowind had gone. She would never spike someone's drink with chili sauce for a joke or get herself beaten up needlessly.

Or, run away on occasion. He too clearly remembered the panic he had been in when she did not come back from ballet class one night when she was seven. Four days had gone by with not a word, even with sending the Imperial Legion out looking for her. The dozens of possibilities that dashed through his mind with every second that she was gone.

Then, she had popped up in Skingrad in the company of Volanaro and J'skar, who had been visiting the local Mages' Guild there. According to her, she had hidden in one of the packs put into the mages' caravan and travelled with them all unbeknownst. She explained all this to him in an unconcerned, almost nonchalant, way, as though she neither knew nor cared how much worry he had put her through.

This action made him all the more determined to not let her near Volanaro again. A little paranoid corner of his mind told him that he might have known she was there and deliberately stowed her away. It persisted with this belief, though he knew it was nonsense, and made him want her to stay away from him as much as possible. The trouble was that she did not want to be kept from him and, whether he wanted her to or not, she would always meet up with him one way or another.

When she went missing the second time, a few weeks ago, it turned out that she had been up the mountains with him. He didn't believe a word the High Elf said about him looking for her and rescuing her.

He marched down to his room and began to get changed out of his guard's uniform. On his dresser were a few paintings he'd had done over the years. A Breton artist had taken residence in Bruma and had taken a liking to Lavinia. Lavinia herself didn't really like having to sit still while her portrait was done but she put up with it all nonetheless. She liked seeing the end result most of all.

The first painting he'd done had been of Lavinia and Burd together when she was six. Then, there was one of her on her own, wearing her favourite red dress and another in her black ballet dress. When she was seven, she had sat for one with Caelia and Sibylla on either side of her. The Breton artist wanted her in again next week, forcing Burd to sell another piece of Polixones' treasury to accomadate her. Perhaps that was part of why Lavinia was like that to him. But, there was no real way of knowing with her. Even after living with her for three years, he still had no idea what went on inside her head.

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_Volanaro_

"Hello, Big Ears!"

J'skar sniggered as usual at Lavinia's nickname for him. The little girl in question skipped up to him, still wearing her fur cloak that was flecked with snow, with a big grin on her face while the rings on her ribbons jangled merrily, "Hello, Tiger Lily." Volanaro grinned, unable to be angry with her for the nickname she forced on him. He scooped her up in his arms and held her up to his face, "Ooph, you're getting heavy!"

This earned him a little smack on the cheek and her snapping, "You don't say that to a lady!"

"She's right, Big Ears." J'skar snickered,

"Your ears are a lot bigger than mine." Volanaro reminded him,

"Your head's a lot bigger than his." Lavinia giggled and Volanaro couldn't help but do so as well. They always had this argument, _No, it can't be called an argument. We don't wish each other ill._ He told himself but argument was the easiest thing to call it,

"I've heard that you are meant to be in ballet classes at this time, aren't you?" J'skar wagged his finger in mock authority,

"Well, I don't like them so I'm skiving off." She said, without a trace of guilt or recognition that she had done something wrong. This didn't stop Volanaro laughing,

"Oh, Tiger Lily, you little scamp!" The nickname the Draconis children had started using for her had spread around Bruma and soon, everyone who liked her was using it. He didn't know how she had got that nickname but it suited her. The news that she was skiving off ballet lessons was not a new thing. After all, she had gone missing twice when she skived off, _She really must hate them if she's that desperate to get away from them. Not that I blame her,_

"Hey, Volanaro, you remember when we skived off Mysticism lessons?"

"Ah, yes." Volanaro smiled happily at the memories and explained to Lavinia, "We used to sneak out of the lessons after registration and go out to the Market District."

"Why after registration?"

"So, we get marked in and no one goes looking for us for a while." J'skar explained, setting off another big grin across her face,

"I never thought of that! Nice one, Point-Ears." That was J'skar's nickname. She seemed to think it right that, since he and Volanaro always went around together, they should have similar nicknames. Though, in Volanaro's opinion, J'skar's nickname was less derogatory and humiliating,

"It was _my _idea." Volanaro pointed out, "It took them ages before they figured it out!"

She giggled along with them before asking, "Is Mysticism really that boring?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Volanaro nodded, "We don't see any point to it. You never use any of it."

"Like ballet." Lavinia piped up. J'skar put in,

"Now, Destruction, that's useful!"

"Can you teach me Destruction?" Lavinia asked, with such an eager face that Volanaro felt bad about saying no so, instead,

"Just the basics, okay?" Volanaro said, in a mock-teacher voice, "Burd thinks you're at ballet, remember? Ballet doesn't involve burning yourself to a crisp!"

So, Volanaro taught her the basic fire touch spell. He felt it safest since it was easier to control and not so disastrous if the caster had poor aim. She grasped it very quickly and was soon scorching the training dummy to her heart's content. J'skar grinned as he watched her make a black dent in one of the metal parts, "You think she might join the Mages' Guild when she's older?"

"I'd love it if she did." Volanaro nodded, thinking that it didn't matter with her if Burd wanted her to or not. By his reasoning, she was completely beyond his control. When she was of age, she would waste no time in doing what she wanted all the time. He knew all too well that she was like that, letting nothing stand in the way of what she wanted whether she had permission or not.

He happily imagined him and her in the Mages' Guild together, playing pranks on Jeanne whenever it took their fancy and taking care of rogue mages. He imagined she would be very good at that part,

"Okay, I think that's enough practise." Volanaro called, as the dummy looked ready to collapse into a cinder, "Other people need to use that too, y'know!"

She stopped with an unabashed look on her face and grinned up at him, "That was great!"

"Yeah." J'skar nodded, "You're a real natural at this. Fancy being a mage when you're older?"

"If I get to do more of that, yes." She nodded, "Can you teach me frost spells next, Big Ears?"

"Not if you keep calling me Big Ears." He wagged a finger in front of her nose before giving it a playful tap, "Anyway, we'll have to wait until next time."

"Oh, who knows when that'll be?" She groaned, slumping into a chair and flexing her sooty fingers, "Burd hates you."

"Why on earth would he do that?" Volanaro tried reasoning, knowing a child's tendency to overestimate things, "I haven't done anything to you."

"I know." Lavinia sighed, suddenly miserable, "He just doesn't like me being with you. He thinks you're a bad influence."

"Well, he's got a point there." joked J'skar. Suddenly, his ear twitched back and his teeth gleamed in a wide grin, "Jeanne's back!"

"Brilliant!" The plan he had been forming for days was coming together, "Tiger Lily, we need your help with this one." Searching in the drawers, he found scraps of old black and white cloaks pinned together deliberately to look ragged and spooky. The hood was still intact with a black, semi-transparent veil to cover the wearer's face. Whoever wore it would look just like a ghost from a novel.

As he laid it out on the bed, his hands quivered with excitement. Even people who were not scared of ghosts would jump and scream if something like that leapt out at them. Lavinia too looked interested in what was there and plucked at the scraps. J'skar recognised and his whiskers quivered with excitement, "Right, then, Tiger Lily. We need you to put this on and give Jeanne a little shock."

The little girl took to this idea immediately. In an instant, the cloak was in her hands and she was trying it on over her black silk ballet outfit that she still wore beneath her cloak. When she pulled the hood over her face and saw the effect, her smile became as bright as the stars, "This'll really scare her. Did you make it, Big Ears?"

"From scratch, yes." Volanaro was so proud of his work being put into action that he completely forgot to be angry with her for calling him Big Ears, "Specifically for this too. Oh, you're going to love it."

J'skar's ears twitched again, "She's coming. Quick!"

Volanaro hastily gave the instructions of what to do to Lavinia and scurried to a hiding place. She took her place by the door and J'skar stood in the corridor as a lookout. The sound of Jeanne's footsteps made his heart flutter with anticipation and it was pounding very audibly when Jeanne's voice could be heard, talking as always as though she was superior to everyone else.

J'skar said the cue words and Lavinia burst out of the door, wailing and flailing her arms. It worked, it worked better than Volanaro could have imagined. Jeanne screamed so loud that it reverberated all around the wooden rooms and the sounds of her fleeing told him it had been a total success. He could no longer keep in his laughter silent and he burst into roars of mirth.

Pulling back her hood, Lavinia doubled up with laughing, along with J'skar. They kept on laughing until Selena came to investigate and discovered them.

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_Burd_

"You're not to see Volanaro again, is that clear?" Burd tried to do her trick of glaring so hard that she got scared but she seemed immune to it. She just stared back up at him with a rebellious defiance that didn't need words. He didn't want to have to be strict with her but he was getting complaints from Jeanne, the frequently picked-on Mages' Guild Associate that Volanaro loved to tease,

"It was just a few jokes." Lavinia stated, folding her arms, "I didn't hurt anyone."

"It was still naughty." Burd insisted, knowing it was going to be a long time before her opinion changed, "You can't do this sort of thing. You wouldn't like it if it happened to you. And, you were meant to be at ballet class."  
"For the last time," Lavinia turned her glare on him and Burd struggled to keep his ground, "I hate ballet. Caelia does, too."

"You're _good_ at it." Burd said, for what felt like the hundredth time,

"It doesn't mean I have to like it." She retorted,

"Don't take that tone with me." Burd felt the anger and exasperation rise, his patience fast disappearing, "Now, I've had enough of this nonsense. Acting like this won't get you anywhere in life."

"But, ballet will? Don't be stupid."

"Don't call me stupid!" He snarled. She flinched slightly as this new temper that had risen out of nowhere in him but he didn't care. This felt like a victory, that he was finally getting through to her, "I won't have anymore of this. Now, go to your room and don't expect me to take you to the Mages' Guild again!"

She looked for a moment as though she was going to come with a snappy reply but, instead, she turned and strode away in dignified defeat. Burd sighed, _Why do I have to be like this just to get her to behave?_ He knew that discipline was a vital part of a child's upbringing but he hated the prospect of carrying it out. He wished he wouldn't have to but he had no choice.

He decided to step outside for a bit of fresh air. The snow was coming down thicker and faster that ever, a sign of winter on the way. Bruma was always well prepared for heavy snowfall, since snow was practically the only weather it had. Seasons just made the snowfall vary a little and the temperature drop marginally. The heavy snowfall, he now found out, could easily conceal someone when they were sneaking up on him.

Before he could get back inside, Raeniel had appeared. He appeared out of the snow with a sneer on his face that could mean nothing good, "Evening, Burd." He called, with suspicious amiability that did not suit him. His distrust was proven when Raeniel leaned on the wall of Burd's house casually and said with just as much of a casual air, "I've heard your pet ashborn has been causing some trouble."

Burd's anger flared within him again. This time, he only just managed to stop himself before he'd say something he'd regret. Something like, _How dare you call her a pet?_ Raeniel went on, "You need to keep her on a leash if she's going to keep causing trouble. I can even lend you one if you like." Burd pursed his lips together, trying to stop the furious rage he longed to throw at him,

_What right have you to talk?_ He said in his head, _Your son is worse than her. Ten times as worse. At least she never beat people up just because she liked doing it._ Raeniel gave a huge, fake yawn, making Burd hope that a snowball would fly into the wide open mouth and choke him, "Well, she's not my responsibility. Just make sure she doesn't wander off into my house, okay?"

"Why would she do that?" Burd only just managed to keep his voice civil,

"Well, I know how prone she is to wondering off if you let her out of your sight. If she wonders out of the city, she might get into trouble."  
"What do you mean, out of the city, Captain?" The word tasted awful in his mouth but he forced it out,

"I've moved out of that grotty little guardhouse, Burd. Me and Saeniel now live a cabin outside the city. I didn't want Saeniel to be near her. Nor do I want to be near her. It would be most beneficial for both parties if we stayed away from each other, wouldn't it?"

He vanished into the snow, leaving Burd feeling strangely worried, though he ought to be celebrating the news.

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A/N: Oh, Lavinia is really starting to become naughty, isn't she?


	25. Chapter 24: Six Years Go By

A/N: Induction week is over and I start my university lectures tomorrow. So, updates are going to be slowed down a good bit. Sorry, but that's the way it goes! Now, the way I did this chapter was a section per year of Lavinia's life, hence the title. I'm also doing one POV per chapter. Hope I don't confuse anyone.

**The Lone Eagle: **Glad you think so. I was worrying that the prank wasn't creative enough.

**maskedpainter: **I was wondering where you'd got to. An error happened to me once when I was reviewing too. Okay, I talked to Lavinia about the shrine. She thinks we're very strange but agrees to our conditions.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Yep, he is a little ****, isn't he? He'll be even more so in coming chapters. Just wait and see!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 24: Six Years Go By**

_Jauffre_

The mist around Cloud Ruler Temple almost impossible to see it anything beyond the path directly before the gate. Jauffre was thankful that the cart that brought the Blades food from Bruma was so noisy or else he never would have known it was there. As it rolled out of the thick whiteness in front of the gate, he gave the order for it to be opened.

This was soon followed by the grunting of the Blades heaving up the crate and the cart leaving back into the white. Thankfully, it managed to get itself up without being dropped. Which had happened a fair few times in Jauffre's time with the Blades. Something else that happened sometimes was the provider's habit of putting in animals that he'd forgotten to kill.

For a moment, he thought that it had happened again as he strolled along the walls to give the usual order to the training recruits that it was no reason to get distracted and saw something moving under the cover. He sighed and rolled his eyes, _I'm going to have to report to the Grandmaster about this. He won't like it._ Putting a hand on his sword, he strode over, ready to skiwer whatever had been left alive (and praying that it wasn't something too big).

When the gap between him and the crate was about five yards, the edge of the cover pulled up and something black slipped out. It took him a while to realise it was not an animal but a child, "Hey!" He called, making the girl whip round. She could not see him clearly, that was plain, but she fled at the realisation that she had been caught.

His shout attracted the attention of the training Blades and they chased the small figure too. The clanging of armour on stone grew to a cacophony as more and more people pursued the intruder. This was Cloud Ruler Temple, after all, and any intrusion was taken very seriously, even on the days when there wasn't anyone of the royal family at Cloud Ruler. Like this day.

Despite the guards on the gate and the trainees after it, the child still evaded them. She was a small girl, Jauffre noticed, of perhaps nine or ten, and wearing a shiny silk black ballet dress under a dark fur cloak. She was small enough to be able to sneak into the food cart without much trouble. All stories of criminals hiring poor children to sneak into places adults could not came into his mind and he pushed his legs even harder to catch her.

The number of Blades chasing her increased as they went through the armoury, East Wing, Great Hall and West Wing. Still, she eluded them. Even when they got close, she suddenly changed direction and forced them to bump into walls, doors or each other. While his head ached from the collision with two new trainees and a stitch developed in his side, Jauffre marvelled at how ineffectual the Blades were at even catching a nine year old. He made a mental note to give the recruits more training in athletics.

As the Blades began to become exhausted, the trail of them behind her thinned. Jauffre's stitch worsened and he realised that he too needed to get into shape, _Damn it! _He thought, as he hurried into the Great Hall for the third time, _If this is what we're like now, I dread to think what we'd do if this was a real, dangerous assassin attack! I need to make more drills for the recruits._

He stopped to try and catch his breath but, as he glared around for a sign of the girl, he realised with a cold grip of dread that she was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, the Blades around him began shouting and pointing up at the rafters. Jauffre glanced up...and then, did a double take. A little black shape was sitting on the rafters where the swords of great Blades were hung like a dark bird of prey.

It took him a few seconds to realise that the girl must have somehow climbed up on the rafters while he was catching his breath. Now, she was out of reach and perilously close to falling off. Though she was an intruder, he wanted her alive so he could question her and, with any luck, get her back to her family. Now, her hood was pulled back and he could see her face.

She was a Dunmer, making the hired-by-a-criminal theory all the more likely in his mind since Dunmers were very rarely seen around these parts. Perhaps she followed a criminal around, doing jobs for him. However, the look on her face made him doubt that theory. He expected a look of fright, defiance or emotionlessness, not a broad, bright smile, stretching her flushed cheeks. It was not defiance but a show that she was enjoying every minute of it.

Her hair, from where he could see, was a bright orange. Probably a wig or cheap dye, he told himself, _Is that what's in fashion for the Dunmer now?_ He wasn't just thinking about the colour but giving that sort of treatment to children. It used to be banned for mer below sixteen. The Blades around him seemed less preoccupied with theories and more with wondering how on earth they were going to get her down,

"Get one of the stable boys!"

"We can't risk that!"

"What if it can't take the weight?"

"What in the name of holy Talos is going on here?"

The Grandmaster had finally stomped out of his office, making Jauffre both glad and worried. He would surely find the answer but, afterwards, they were all in for reprimands for having to resort to using his help for such a situation. Jauffre opened his mouth to explain but the Grandmaster spotted the girl first. His face went red in an instant,

"Who let that brat in?" He demanded, glaring at Jauffre as though he thought he was the one that did it,

"She wasn't let in, Sir." Jauffre answered, managing to keep his voice steady, "She was hiding in the food crate."

"A spy, eh?" He snarled, glaring up at the girl, who still wore her big smile despite all the accusations heaped on her, "Hey, girl!"

"Hello!" She actually waved merrily, making the Grandmaster grow steadily purple with rage. Jauffre stared in wonder at her. She was a fraction of his age and yet she held absolutely no fear for the Grandmaster of the Blades, "Now, this might seem like a stupid question," She went on, "but could you tell me what this place is?"

"Wh-how-_This is Cloud Ruler Temple, you dumb whelp!_" The Grandmaster bellowed,

"Oh, really?" The girl nodded, as though they were having a decent conversation in a bar, "Nice name. Fits really well, I suppose. Is this the top of the mountain?"

"_You-you-_" The Grandmaster was struggling for words and, if he became any more purple, he would start turning black. The Blades around them started backing away fearfully, knowing all too well what happened if the Grandmaster was angry. Jauffre swallowed and decided to speak up, knowing he was not so prone to temper tantrums. Besides, the girl did not seem to be lying, however odd she was. If she was, she would not ask where she was outright and someone this young probably couldn't lie that well. Keeping his voice as calm and friendly as possible, he called up,

"You really do not know where you are?"

"Not really, no. But, that's okay." She added, casually, at Jauffre's stricken face, "That's the way I like it. Get in a cart and go wherever it goes."

"You picked the cart at random?"

"It was the only one in the stables."

"Are you working for anyone?" Jauffre went on, glad that the conversation was getting somewhere,

"No." She said, without a trace of fear as far as he could see, "Burd'll kill me if he knows I'm here." Taken the wrong way, this could sound threatening but it was clear that this was a simple exaggeration,

"Who's Burd? Does he live in Bruma?"

"Yes, that's right. He's a friend of my parents'. I live with him."

"And, why did you decide to get in the cart in the first place?"  
"To get away from ballet class."

"And, ah," Jauffre tried to piece this together in a logical way, "didn't you think it would be rather dangerous?"

"Oh, dangerous is fine. Dangerous is good." That seemingly permanent grin was still on her face and, to his horror, she began reaching over the rafters to grab the swords hanging from them,

"No, don't touch those!" cried Jauffre, feeling the Grandmaster's wrath almost radiating off him without having to look. Her hand froze an inch away from one,

"Why? They're swords. They shouldn't be hanging from the ceiling."

"_WE DON'T NEED TO EXPLAIN OUR WAYS TO YOU, YOU DUMB GIRL!_" roared the Grandmaster, actually tearing a clump of his hair out and swearing loudly, "_GET DOWN RIGHT NOW AND BE THANKFUL THAT WE WILL NOT KILL YOU IMMEDIATELY!_"

Jauffre winced. He waited for the girl's face to crumple into tears, as any would when faced with such anger. She, however, frowned in an insulted sort of way, as though he had said something very offensive and what she said next made the remaining Blades scurry out of the hall in fright, "Hmph! Charming. I don't think I like talking to you. You've got a fouler mouth than the Legion soldiers. He's a lot nicer." She pointed at Jauffre, "I'll talk to him, thank you."

The Grandmaster's hand was on his sword and he looked ready to cut down the rafters to bring her down. Still, the girl did not flinch. If this wasn't such a perilous time, Jauffre would have admired her nerves and audacity to say that to the Grandmaster. Seeing red, he quickly called up, "Ah, if you come down now, I'll take you back to Bruma and there'll be no trouble."

"See?" The girl turned back to the fuming Grandmaster, "If you're polite, you can get anything."  
Then, she stood up on the rafters and lightly leapt off. Jauffre's heart stopped and he hurried forward, arms outstretched. He only just caught her before she hit the ground and his heart was still pounding. The girl however frowned and snapped, "What did you do that for?" as though he had done something very stupid,

"You just-you just jumped off!" Jauffre gasped, astonished at her continued nonchalance,

"I know." The grin was back. Close up, it looked almost manic, "You face was hilarious! You should have seen it."

Shaking his head, Jauffre carried her out of Cloud Ruler Temple before the Grandmaster exploded.

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_Andreas_

Matthias retreated to his room as he always did when Lavinia came around. This didn't bother him. In fact, it was better that way. He liked being alone with Lavinia the best. She was so funny and amazing with her drawing...and many other things about her. Which is why he tried his best not to fiddle with what he wanted to give her.

Lavinia came up to him, smiling that big smile as always, "Hey, Dragon's Tongue." She greeted him with the nickname that had stuck with him every since she had come back from Skingrad. With butterflies rioting in his stomach and his cheeks going very red, he brought out the small bunch of fake tiger lilies. She grinned and accepted them graciously, "Oh, thank you!"

"I got them from Cheydinhal." He explained, awkwardly, "I saw them in a shop window and, y'know we never get flowers around here-"

"Oh, you lucky man!" She cut across him, putting the flowers carefully in her pocket, "Burd never lets me go _anywhere!_ Mind you," She added, as though on an afterthought, "I can always go by myself whenever I want. It's just a matter of how much Burd keeps an eye on me."

She said all this in such a matter-of-fact tone. Andreas had always admired how fearless she was. Matthias called it stupidity but he knew it was fearlessness. Even though he was three years older than her, he never dared to venture too far out of Applewatch or too far away from his mother, knowing how dangerous it was to wonder on his own. She didn't think anything of these dangers and went out like a hardy adventurer whenever she could,

"So," She hauled herself on a chest of drawers (she always loved to be somewhere where her feet couldn't touch the ground), "what was Cheydinhal like?"

"Very green." Andreas started, awkwardly, in the face of her curious enthusiasm, "All the houses are all white and purple."

"Purple houses?" Lavinia repeated, giggling,

"I know." Andreas too laughed without really any cause. She was just laughing so he thought that he might as well join in, "There are loads of Dark Elves there. None that look like you, though." _None as pretty as you._ Andreas wanted to say,

"What did they look like?" He could have sworn he'd seen her ears perk up at the new subject,

"Mostly all with blue skin...and dark hair. They're really different compared to you. Some of them were really unfriendly...and ugly."

She tittered and, if she picked up on the subtle compliment, she didn't show it. Sometimes, there was no real way of telling if she'd picked up on things or not. Sometimes, she would not react to something but reference it in another comment. He went on describing as much of Cheydinhal as he could remember. At one point in the conversation, she said, "I'd love to visit Cheydinhal. It sounds great."

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_Caelia_

"Alright, everyone, sit down and get out your books."

The teacher's arrival signalled a scuttering of feet and scraping of chairs. Caelia sat next to Lavinia, as she always did. What was called the 'senior class' of the chapel school consisted of everyone who was eleven years old and above. Lavinia had come into the class that term, which Caelia had been really looking forward to,

"Right, then, today, we will be studying the Emperors of the early third era. Caelia, can you tell me when Pelagius Septim the Third died?"  
"Ah," Caelia jumped and felt her face flush as all the class turned to her, "...er...151?"

"Close but not quite. It was 153. Write that down so you don't forget again." Caelia hastened to copy the right answer in place of her mistake on the parchment, her face becoming hotter with embarrassment, "Right, then, we all know what Pelagius Septim the Third was also known as, don't we?"

"Pelagius the Mad, miss." chanted the class in the dull, rehearsed way it always did when repeating facts to the teacher. She gave no indication of pleasure that the class had got it right but proceeded to write the name on the board. She began rattling on about the various political failures that Pelagius the Mad committed and nothing of the more interesting and funny parts about him.

As Caelia hastened to copy everything she was saying down, she glanced over at Lavinia. Her quill was still firmly in its inkpot and her piece of charcoal was whizzing across the page. That was quite normal though. Lavinia didn't remember things that were written down, only things that were presented in pictures, so, when she was taught something new in history, she would depict it in a picture. Caelia envied her for this talent and wished she could do something like that instead of be stuck with words,

"Now, Pelagius Septim died, as I said, in 153. Lavinia, who took Pelagius' crown?"

"It wasn't me, miss!" Lavinia protested as though she had been accused of firing ink pellets at the teacher, "I never did it!"

The class tittered at this, including Caelia. Lavinia always had a great thing to say that would make the pupils laugh and the teacher angry. Again, this was another thing Caelia envied about her was her nerve to say something like that to a teacher. She certainly would have wished she hadn't said it if she had been faced with the expression on the teacher's face at that moment,

"Fool of a girl!" She snapped, "His wife, Katariah Ra'Athim, took her husband's crown."  
Despite the teacher being completely serious, Lavinia actually snorted and leaned over to Caelia, saying in a stage-whisper that carried across the room, "I bet Pelagius yelled her ear off for that!"

"Ugh! Lavinia."  
"Yes, miss."

"Be quiet and pay attention. Empress Katariah was one of the only Empresses that was not an Imperial. She was a Dunmer and ruled for nearly fifty years."

So, the lesson went on in that same vein. Finally, the bell rang and the teacher dismissed them. Lavinia accompanied Caelia to pick up Sibylla from the junior class (she had been most upset when Lavinia had moved out of her class). With that, they found Caelia's mother and Burd outside and they left for Applewatch. Once the grown-ups were distracted with their own conversation, the three girls picked up their tools and told the adults they were going outside to play.

Soon, the sound of wood on wood crashing together repeated in a rhythmic, repetitive way. Caelia was getting quicker and Lavinia could barely block her. Sibylla squealed with delight with every move Lavinia made. Even though she was only nine, she seemed to like seeing fights just as much as her sister. Caelia supposed that she had got it from Lavinia, who had the idea of these secret practises in the first place. Anything Lavinia did, Sibylla immediately adored. Anything Lavinia said she hated, Sibylla immediately loathed.

Sibylla's cry had distracted Lavinia and, in a moment, the thin wooden pole was thrown from her grip to clatter against a tree. Panting and her face shining with sweat, she faced Caelia, who felt as though she was glowing, "How in _Oblivion_...did you get...so fast?" gasped out Lavinia,

"Practise makes perfect, Tiger Lily." The other shrugged, careless, knowing it irritated her,

"Burd doesn't let me play with the swords anymore. You know that."

Scowling, Lavinia went to retrieve her pole. Since they could not get real swords and her mother would kill her if she found one in her house, they had used a wooden pole taken off a broom and snapped in half to form a weapon for each of them without the obvious risk. Lavinia, a probable expert in how to do things without others noticing, had created the rules of the fight: they were only allowed to hit the other's stick and the fight was over when one was disarmed.

It had worked so far. The only indication of their exertions was the sweat on their faces and that was no defining clue. Everyone just thought they've been running around in the woods. Then again, Lavinia was an expert on covering things up. If there was something she was not allowed to do, it made her all the more determined to do it. She did what she wanted, just sometimes in secret.

Sibylla hurried up to Lavinia and begged her to have a go with the poles. The Dunmer girl looked at her eager face judgingly and then, handed the pole over. Little Sibylla gave another squeal of happiness and seized with both hands, "Try the moves with it first." Lavinia instructed, as though she was a swordsmistress, "Just try slashing for a bit."

Sibylla threw herself into it as though all her life had been leading up to this moment. Her hair flew right in her face and made her whack tree trunks a few times. Lavinia stopped her after a while and tried to get her to slow down a little. As she began trying to hit the same spot on the ground twice, Caelia took her sister's place on the log to watch.

Lavinia had changed a lot in six years from the miserable, silent girl she had been when she first appeared. She was now strong-willed, very independant for her age and very popular in the town, despite her unruly side. Caelia had got used to the tinkling of the rings on her ribbons announcing her arrival, that sounded whenever she was running. Sibylla had tried to wear her hair in the same style but her hair was just too short and uncooperative for it. It made her furious whenever she tried. Caelia hadn't tried but thought that she would probably have the same problems as her sister,

Snow sprayed up as the pole smashed into the ground. It was amazing that it was still holding itself intact despite all the abuse it was under. Sibylla was still very aimless with her swings and large gashes were left in the snow from her attempts. Suddenly, Lavinia gasped and halted what looked like the twentieth slash, "Quick!" She hissed, "Hide! There's someone coming!"

Caelia hurried behind a rock along with Sibylla. She took no time to see where Lavinia was hiding, even though she knew that, whenever Lavinia noticed someone coming, they would always have enough time to hide. Lavinia shrugged off this ability with the fact that she was an elf with more sensitive ears than humans. Sure enough, she heard heavy footsteps and the call of her mother, "Caelia! Sibylla! Lavinia! Dinner's ready!"  
It was always this; it would only be the grown-ups calling them in for their dinner. Yet Lavinia always reacted as though it was some terrible kidnapper or bandit that would kill them or worse if they got a hint of where they were. Caelia came out of her hiding place with Sibylla, hiding her pole behind her back. Her mother was with Burd and spotted her at once,

"Oh! There you are! Is Lavinia here?"

"Ah..." Caelia glanced about, knowing that Lavinia would not be anywhere in sight. Sure enough, the trees shifted ever so slightly as though a squirrel had just run across the branch and a dark shape dropped at an alarming speed for a too-high branch. Lavinia, in her dark cloak with her hood up, straightened up as though she had just walked down a flight of stairs.

Burd, however, reacted as though she had leapt from the highest branch and, with a gasp of horror, he rushed to her, "What on Nirn did you do that for?"  
"I'm fine." Lavinia retorted, though Caelia knew she must have at least sprained an ankle from a fall like that. That was something she never understood about her friend. She acted as though she expected someone to attack her at any time and never once asked for help, ever. Not even in class when she was stuck on something. Now, when it was almost certain that she had an injury, she just covered up what must have been agony and even walked forward, though with a very obvious limp, as though nothing was wrong.

Burd, as always, made a big fuss over it, telling her to sit down while he found a suitable splint to put on her ankle until they could get it healed properly. And, that was another thing Caelia envied about Lavinia. Her father, being the drunken lout he had been, had never paid any attention to his children. They could have been wailing in agony and he would not have looked around. Her mother had tried to make up for this, of course, but it never felt like enough.

Burd, however, was the father Mr Draconis should have been. In fact, he more than made up for the lack of a mother figure for Lavinia. Yet, she didn't seem to see this. She did not sit still as instructed but insisted that it was nothing to worry about, even walking around to try and prove it (though the limp made that action meaningless). Burd acted as though he hadn't heard and soon found a good clean strip of wood to tie to her leg.

All the way to Applewatch, Burd kept on telling her how dangerous tree-climbing was. Not in a sharp voice but there was authority in it. All of it fell on deaf ears, Caelia could tell. For years afterwards, Caelia would regret not telling Lavinia to realise how much Burd cared for her. Maybe, if she had, what happened in the future would not have occurred.

It never occured to her to say it outright at the time, though. She just reasoned that she was young and would take things for granted. She would realise it when she was older. When they got to Applewatch, she had completely forgotten the issue. They managed to hide their poles (Lavinia had hers hidden down her shirt) and, as soon as dinner was over, they got into a conversation of what they would do when they were masters of swords,

"I'll be the Captain of the Fighters' Guild!" declared Sibylla,

"It's _Master_ of the Fighters' Guild." Caelia argued, "And, they don't let girls in. I want to be an adventurer."

"Yeah!" Lavinia nodded, excitedly, "Going wherever you want and charging head-first into danger!"

"Didn't you say that you wanted to be a guard once?" Caelia added, on a sudden thought,

"Oh, yeah."

"But, they don't let girls in."

"So? I can just pretend to be a boy. It can't be hard."

"I will, too!" chirped Sibylla,

"What about you, Primrose?"

"Yeah, sure." Caelia had never thought of this before and it sounded like a very good idea, "I'll do it first."  
"No, I will. I'll bet you I'll be Captain of the Guard before you."

"How much?"

"Twenty septims."

"You're on!"

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_Volanaro_

The door opened and a familiar jangle of metal told him that Lavinia was there, "Hey, Big Ears." Her greeting was much more subdued than usual, making him look around, concerned. She had doubled in both age and size since he had first saw her. She was beginning to become a woman, it was clear to see. She was still recognisable, of course. Her hair was still as vibrant as ever and her skin was still the purplish hue it had always been. She was wearing male clothes, as she always did when visiting Volanaro in secret.

The slight frown on her face was something he didn't recognise though, "What's up?" He asked, at once,

"I don't know." Lavinia shrugged, flopping down in a chair, "Just irritated. Burd's being as stupid as ever. Ballet's getting worse. I can't even see you when I want to."

Volanaro, though it had been a long time since he was a teenager, knew something of how she felt, "Ah, Burd'll ease up when you get older. Don't worry," A smile split over his face as he readied himself to say the words, "Plum Ears."

"_What_?" All moodiness vanished and her eyes widened,

"I think it suits you." Volanaro smirked, "You call J'skar Point-Ears, you call me Big Ears so it's only fair we should call your ears something."

"They're not shaped like plums." She objected then, with a hint of smirk, added, "More like carrots."

"Yeah. But so are mine." He gestured at his own, "Yours have the colour of plums. Which I really like." He tossed her one from the bowl, which she managed to grasp. As she took the first bite, he asked "Why does he make you go to ballet?"

"He keeps saying that I'm good at it. Just because I'm good at it doesn't mean I have to love it. I've tried holding myself back but it doesn't work." Volanaro nodded at pauses, knowing that it was best to let them just rant on about things instead of suggesting possibilities, "I felt like I've tried everything in the book to get out of it but nothing works. I'd much rather be learning how to swing a sword or blow something up. Like that ballet teacher."

"Tiger Lily!" Volanaro chuckled, "Why blow her up when you can play good pranks on her instead?"

This lightened her mood instantly, "Yeah, yeah! Y'know, one time, I put butter on the soles of her ballet slippers. She was slipping around all over the place and ripped her dress all the way up to her chest. It was hilarious."

Volanaro laughed as she acted out the ballet mistress' slipping around the place,

"And, I didn't get caught, either!" She added, with a big grin, "Everyone thought it was so funny!"

"Attagirl!" Volanaro grinned, "What else did you do?"

"I put itching powder in the tutus and drew on the mirrors..." She went on with this, Volanaro laughing at every story and sometimes wishing he had thought of something like that when he was in class at the Arcane University. About half an hour later, she was back to her old self as though she had never been miserable. At one point, he heard Selena coming and Lavinia, having heard her too, did the most amazing thing he had ever seen her do.

She climbed onto the chest of drawers and leapt up into the air. Catching the rafter, she swung herself up on it and curled on it like a cat, pressing a finger to her lips as the door opened. Selena came and went without any event (and without seeing Lavinia). Volanaro had to fight down the urge to laugh when the door closed between him and an oblivious Selena,

"What was _that?_" Volanaro stared, as she leapt lightly down onto the floor,

"I've been getting better at that." She said, rather proudly, "No one _ever_ sees me if I hide in the rafters!"

"Have you been doing it often?" He raised an eyebrow, _I know I wouldn't be able to. I suppose it's because she's smaller than me,_

"Yeah." She nodded, enthuasiastically, "Burd always goes mad whenever he sees me up there." He then noticed that she had a trickle of plum juice coming down from her mouth. He brushed it off, his face heating up, _Now's a good time! Ask her!_ His mind urged him,

"Ah, Lavinia?"

"Yes?" She had almost finished the plum and had thrown the seed in the bin,

"Er, would you...by any chance...like to go...out someplace...with me...?"

All worries were put to rest when she gave him a glowing smile, "Of course! When?"

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_Narina_

Narina found herself seeing Lavinia a lot more often nowadays. Her lessons were cancelled left, right and centre as her teachers were called to aid her father. He had taken ill very suddenly after collapsing in the middle of keeping court. No one knew what had brought it on but the Count was now in bed with a seemingly permanent fever, as well as other disgusting symptoms.

Not that Narina could complain. She loved spending time out of the castle and even more if it was time spent with Lavinia. They would meet around the chapel after Lavinia had finished school and either went for a walk around the town accompanied by one of the guards (her bodyguards, of course, since it was simply foolishness for a Count's daughter to go wandering around on her own) or had dinner at Burd's house.

Though it was lacking in space and colour, Narinia didn't mind the place and Burd was always very polite to her. Indeed, Burd was a very different Nord compared to the others. He did not frequent taverns or socialise with the drunkards of the town. He was exactly the sort of thing a guard ought to be, especially one that had risen through the ranks and was so well liked in the town. In fact, if he was a bit smaller and less bulky, he could almost pass off as an Imperial,

_When Raeniel and the Count are gone, I'll make him my Captain of the Guard._ She decided, on her third visit. She didn't say this, of course, because Raeniel wasn't anywhere near gone yet. She could always have him transferred, of course, but she didn't want to burden another city with his presence. And, what city would take him when they knew of his record and character?

Speaking of Raeniel, he was being very vocal about his dislike of Lavinia and why Narina should not associate with a 'delinquent ashborn'. She ignored him, however. Even though she was not a Countess, he had no power over her. Besides, even though word of her pranks had spread around town, it was by and large agreed that it was only harmless fun. No one really thought it was anything bad.

Lavinia herself acted with all proper manners towards her, anyway, and had never done her any harm. She was perhaps a little wild and her way of thinking differed very much from Narina's but that was to be expected. She considered herself a very close friend of Lavinia's, even though they were so far apart in social standing and she was four years older than her.

Both of them were growing up, Lavinia faster than Narina. Then again, Lavinia always acted more like an adult than Narina so she supposed that it made sense that she would grow up more quickly in body too. Something people were fast to comment on. Even Raeniel, whom she overheard one day saying to his son in a tone she did not like one bit, "With all that thing's faults, it's a pretty creature." She regretted it for years afterwards but, at the time, she thought nothing of it and only theorised that this might be leading to a potential reconciliation betweeen him and Lavinia. How naive that thought seemed to her in a few years time.

One evening, she was watching Lavinia practise ballet. She was very good at it, performing the moves with grace and seeming ease, though she made it sound like it was hard work. Narina did not understand why she disliked ballet so much; it was a beautiful dance and it took time and effort to perfect it. Besides, Lavinia was capable so she should proceed with it.

She did not voice this, however, knowing that it would irritate her and it was not proper to irritate a friend when one knows the effect it will have. When she had finished, she applauded all the same, even if Lavinia did not appreciate it. When they got outside, Lavinia turned her and said, "Oh, yeah. Rina," That was the unofficial nickname she had given to her, "would you like to sit for a portrait for me?"

"A portrait?" She had sat for portraits before, mostly wearing very uncomfortable, frilly dresses that were left in the cupboard, never to see the light of day again,

"Yeah." Lavinia nodded, "I'm getting all my friends together to sit for a portrait with me. I've been saving up for it for years. I'd love it if you came."  
"Oh course, Lavinia. When can I come?"

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_Burd_

Burd ran a hand through his hair as he sat down in the rows of benches. If discipline was a vital part of a child's learning, why was Lavinia becoming more and more unruly. It seemed the punishments only increased the amount of times she misbehaved. She was not discouraged whatsoever. No matter how many times Perennia told him that it was a phase children outgrew, he could not help but think about what would happen if she didn't.

Like with Saeniel, Divines forbid she should ever become like that. His father, Raeniel, had announced his retirement out of the blue two weeks ago and the father and son had retreated to their cabin out of town. Their lack of contact and appearances, though marvellous to think about before, were disturbing now. They had gone when the Count was at his worst health yet. Though it was baseless, Burd had a bad feeling that these events were not a coincedence.

The new captain called order and began talking to them about a new recruit, "I want you all to make him feel welcome as, not only is he joining our guard today, but he had just moved into this county. Let me introduce Alleno Hlaalu."  
When Burd saw the boy, it was clear to see why he had not seen him before. He was a Dunmer and Raeniel's reputation as a Dunmer hater had spread through Cyrodiil. What struck him was that he was very young, about the same age as Lavinia. Only about fourteen or so. Then again, it was harder to tell with elves. He could be his age for all he knew.

His skin was a bluish tint, the exact same colour as the sort of make-up ladies wore on their eyelids, and his hair was dark, pulled into a braid so he almost looked like Polixones,

"It's nice to meet you all." He said, in a rather strange voice that sounded more like an Imperial than a Dunmer, "I'm afraid I'll be working nights so I won't see you a lot but it was good of the captain to arrange a meeting with you. I hope I proove myself in the coming days to be a worthy guard. Thank you."

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A/N: The next chapter'll be the last of the flashback chapters. I know you've been missing Martin and the gang a lot but I will bring them back soon, never fear!


	26. Chapter 25: The Fateful Day

A/N: Bad chapter name, I know. Okay, this'll be the last of the flashback chapters for now. I'm going back to present time next chapter. BTW, I think there's some problems with reviewing right now. maskedpainter can't get her reviews through so, keep aware!

**maskedpainter: **Yes, it is very suspicious, isn't it? I wonder, have you got any pages of Uriel's diary that describe Martin's mum and his little relationship with her, if you know what I mean?

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Volanaro's in his late twenties, I'd say. And, I'm glad you found this so funny!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 25: The Fateful Day**

_Soren_

Alleno Hlaalu was soon hard at work, throwing himself in with gusto and his double daggers. Though Soren had only been in the guard for a month, he was sure that none of the other guards were like that. Then again, one had to be if they had the misfortune to be assigned to patrol during closing time. Though all the guards foolish enough to take that time were all new recruits, Alleno immediately acted like a leader for all of them. He always managed to organise all of them into battelions to deal with the drunks,

"Alright, lads!" He would call out when closing time approached, "Break's over! The staggerers are out!"

He had codenames for all different sorts of drunks by the end of the week. 'Staggerers' were the relatively harmless drunks who just wandered aimlessly about the place. 'Mourners' were ones who drowned their sorrows and would try to throw themselves off the mountain if left to their own devices. 'Boxers' were the ones who were very easily provoked into a fight when the guards approached and the hardest to manage.

Alleno managed to get three 'staggerers' home and come off worse in a fight with a 'boxer'. Soren blamed the fact that he had not drawn either one of his daggers but insisted on using his fists. An approach that was only sensible in theory. Still, his good mood did not abate, "Bruises are good!" He insisted, as they tried to persuade him to visit the Mages' Guild to get the bright purple bruises fixed, "They mean I'm good at this. Don't look so worried, Soren! If they make me look that ugly, I'll have them fixed up for tomorrow! I don't mind looking ugly until then!"

And he did. When he came back the next night, he looked as though nothing had happened. Even his smile was not shaken. Soren, having been brought up in Bruma all his life, had never met any Dunmer before him. He's always been told that the Dunmer were a proud, aloof race. Yet, he was exactly the opposite. He made the recruits actually look forward to closing time since they would be working with him.

His presence made them all the more thankful for Raeniel's retirement. If Raeniel had been in charge, Alleno probably would not be even allowed to be in the town. Speaking of which, he had no idea where Alleno lived. He didn't sleep in the barracks; he just disappeared into thin air. It was a shame because the guards were talking about introducing him to Lavinia, whom he never saw since he always worked at night.

Burd had not met Alleno yet but, apparently, he was still wary. He was too much like Volanaro and everyone in the guard knew how much he wanted the Altmer away from his daughter. Apparently, his daughter, Lavinia, had settled down somewhat but he was still on the lookout. Still, it was early days and no real assumptions could be made. Alleno was a guard, after all, and never played pranks on anyone. His energetic attitude was just that, there was no mischief in him. He was happy to try and motivate the others, or so Soren supposed. He never knew for sure.

It was just impossible to think anything bad about Alleno. He knew that wasn't a good trait in a guard, since he was always meant to be alert and aware of anything out of the ordinary but there was something about the young Dunmer that told him that he wasn't up to anything.

In the first week, Alleno managed to make his first successful arrest. A 'boxer' would not back down and, in the end, it took two guards as well as him to bring it down. Still, Alleno had not drawn either one of his swords. He was grinning from ear to ear all the way to the prison cells, even though the ends of his mouth were turning purple from the bruises, "Just another day at the office!" He said, dismissively, when one of the guards offered to help, still with that smile on his face.

Two months into his employment, Alleno had already gained a very good reputation, despite the only people who met with him regularly were guards and drunkards. Soren could definitely feel a lift in mood in Bruma. With Raeniel retired and the Count at death's door, people were looking forward to a bright new beginning for the town. Alleno was the first sign, to them, that things were changing for the better.

Alleno was also becoming more familiar with the others. Before, he had always denied invitations to accompany his fellow guards on breaks (politely and with smiles, of course) and hurried off into the night when his shift was over. However, to celebrate the two-month anniversary of his appointment, he found it in his heart to give in and come with them. Soren was so grateful to hear it. He had wanted him celebrating with them ever since his arrival, since he was the real hero of the night and should be celebrated as such.

Olav greeted Alleno like a hero. Of course, he would. It was Alleno that stopped him from risking himself in brawls, after all. The first round of drink went down very quickly, with Alleno hesistating a little. After the second and third, however, he became more and more loud and lively. He was also changing. His voice was higher than his usual Imperial-like wont, so much so that he sounded more female than male. He was also getting more talkative about himself, in a contrast to saying nothing about himself when he was sober,

"Y'know, Alleno." Soren couldn't help but slur. He didn't really care at this point, though, "Your-your voice is different. You sound like a girl!"

"What? Y'want me to _talk like this_?" He asked, in a mock-deep voice that sounded more like a Nord than an elf. The pair of them dissolved into laughter they could not prevent. The alcohol was getting to the both of them, Alleno more than he, _He's young._ He reasoned with himself, not that he could really talk, _He hasn't got the resistance._

The hours and ale was going fast and Alleno was getting steadily more drunk. No one really minded much. They had handed in all their weapons before coming in to stop any fights getting nasty and they had the next shift of guards to help them out if anything went wrong. Soren thought nothing of when Alleno started singing bar songs with the others. He was only happy that he was coming out of his shell.

As he did (deciding he'd had enough and staying around to watch), Soren noticed his hair was starting to wobble. Puzzled, he watched as the dark mass began to pull back, revealing a few bright orange curls. Olav had spotted this too and was approaching. At this point, someone managed to throw their ale all over him and the blue hue of his skin actually began to run off, revealing bright purple, _What the hell...?_

Olav provided the answer for him, "Hang on...that looks like...Lavinia?"

"You say something?" Alleno turned, now really looking and sounding like a girl more than ever, "Someone say my name?" With that, the Dunmer toppled off the table and the dark wig fell off.

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_Burd_

Fury pounded in his ears as morning came, rising with like the water boiling in the kettle on the stove. Burd could not remember ever being so angry. And, he had been sitting at the table in a fury for hours, letting it increase until all control was gone. The kettle whistled piercingly, gushing out a jet of steam. As Burd seized the handle, a groan came from behind the screen. He felt the first shout building up but he pushed it down. He wanted her to speak first and give an explanation for what she had done.

Swearwords he certainly never used in front of her could be heard as he poured the boiling water into the teapot, _Did she learn those from those guards?_ At last, Lavinia dragged herself around the screen, her chainmail clinking in a parody of the ribbons that lay abandoned on her dresser, "Hey, Burd." She greeted him, blearily, looking up at him with unfocused eyes,

"Morning." He retorted, tartly. Even in her state, she picked up on his anger,

"What's up?" Then, she spotted the Bruma guard uniform upon her body and the dark wig on the table. She swore again,

"Don't use that language in here."

Slouching in a chair, she reached for the sugar bowl, as usual. Burd held it away from her; he was in no mood to entertain her habits. She gave up after a while but would not touch her tea. Neither would he. A long silence stretched between them. Neither one of them moved or spoke as the stalemate lengthened. Anyone who walked in on them would probably think they had been turned to stone.

In the end, as the teacup in his hand became stone cold, he broke the compressing quiet, "Lavinia, what possessed you to deliberately disobey me like this?"

Nothing. Her dark lips remained resolutely shut,

"Why do you have to run wild like this all the time? Your father died to make sure you lived and acting like this is a very poor way of repaying him."

"Father would not have wanted this." Lavinia's voice came in a low snarl, "He would not have wanted me to waste my time being a mindless doll, made to look pretty and seen, not heard!" Her voice rose, as did her head, revealing bloodshot, furious eyes. Her defiance only increased Burd's anger. He had taken this for years and years; he had tried to be reasonable with her, he had tried to discipline her but nothing got through,

"He would have wanted you to be out of any danger!" Burd's voice rose incredibly quickly,

"You mean, _you _want me to be out of danger!" Her tea sloshed over the floor and the cup shattered on the boards, "Will you _stop_ bringing my father into this?"

"_You_ brought your father into this, first!"

"_God's blood_!" roared Burd, sending his tea flying along with the sugar bowl and milk jug, "_All the things I've done for you and you just throw it back in my face!_"

"_All you've done for me is force me to do the most idiotic and pointless practise in the world and never let me get out of this place! Oh, it's no wonder I love to run away!_" She threw her hands in the air, despite being so hung over. This nonchalance, acting like he was the one at fault, made Burd's face and blood boil. Without even attempting self-control, he threw aside his chair and bellowed,

"_DON'T YOU DARE TALK LIKE THAT TO ME, LAVINIA HARLA!_"

"_I'M NOT A CHILD!_" She roared back, her cheeks turning the colour of prunes in rage, "_I'M FOURTEEN AND I'M NOT MADE OF GLASS! I CAN MAKE MY OWN DECISIONS AND I WILL FOLLOW THEM THROUGH WHETHER BY YOUR WILL OR NOT!_"

This time, it was Burd's turn to throw his hands up in the air, though he did stop shouting. His throat was starting to hurt, "_Lavinia, we have been through this a THOUSAND times! You're a teenager and you make mistakes-_"

"_Oohhh, so now, you're calling me an idiot?_" Now, the table was the only thing seperating them. They were hunched over, poised like two mountain lions over territory, "_Oh, it's all coming out now, isn't it? You want to keep me under your thumb for the rest of my life as your precious little doll to show off at parties and marry off to some stuck-up farmer when you're too old to do it anymore!_"

This accusation was way below the belt. Of course, he never wanted to do anything of the sort but her talking to him like he had no authority over her made him more angry now and he roared,

"_HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME IN THAT WAY! THE RULES I MAKE ARE ALL FOR YOUR BENEFIT AND TO MAKE SURE YOU'RE SAFE-_"

"_I'D RATHER HAVE SOME ACTUAL EXCITEMENT THAN HAVE YOU MAKING STUPID RULES 'FOR MY BENEFIT'! YOU DUMB NORD, YOU DON'T PAY ANY ATTENTION TO WHAT I WANT! YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ANY OF MY OPINIONS, JUST YOURS!_"

"_AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? NOT LISTENING TO A WORD I SAY AND JUST DOING AS YOU PLEASE LIKE YOU'RE QUEEN OF THE WORLD! HAVE YOU EVER JUST STOPPED AND WONDERED WHAT YOU'RE PUTTING ME THROUGH? HOW MUCH I WORRY EVERY TIME I FIND YOU'RE NOT HOME AND HOW EMBARASSED I AM EVERY TIME SOMEONE TELLS ME ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE BEEN UP TO?_"

"_THERE, YOU SEE! YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT HOW YOU LOOK! I'M JUST YOUR REPRESENTATIVE TO THE WORLD, AM I? WELL, IN THAT CASE, I'M NOT SORRY FOR ANYTHING I'VE DONE! I'M GLAD I'M MAKING YOU LOOK BAD!_"

Then, Lavinia balled her hand into a fist, all traces of a hangover gone, and threw it right at him. It was clumsy and slow to get moving. Burd easily grabbed hold of her wrist, raised his hand and smacked her hard across the face. That managed to shut her up. Though she did not collapse into tears like any other girl, she held her silence and allowed him to throw her into a chair,

"_Now, listen here and listen good! You defied both me and the law of Bruma over the last two months. You know full well that girls are not meant to become guards. There's sufficient evidence to have you arrested. You'd better be grateful that I can make sure you're only under house arrest, even if you aren't grateful for anything else I do!_"

"_House arrest?_" Lavinia repeated, in a low voice, clutching her burning cheek,

"_That's right._" Burd nodded, "_You're to stay here for a few weeks and not go outside at all. A guard is going to be staying here to make sure you do._"  
"_And, you're not?_" She retorted, an air of baiting him in her speech, "_What's the matter, finally sick of me?_"

"_I've been called to Bravil on business. I'll be gone a week and, if I hear any word that you've been misbehaving, I will not stop the guards from throwing you in a cell._"

Hearing the first guard on duty knock, he picked up his bags. As he marched out, a small figure appeared leaning idly against the chapel, "Dear, dear, Burd." Raeniel tutted, shaking his head, "You really shouldn't shout so much. Any louder and people in Cloud Ruler Temple would have heard you." Having neither the time nor the requirement to listen to him, Burd tried to just stride on by. However, Raeniel called after him, "I do hope the guards can keep an eye on her. You never know what she might get herself into if she wandered off again!"

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His anger abated after the first day of being away from Bruma. Now, his reason was beginning to take over as the anger began to cool. By the time he had got underway with his work in Bravil, something very boring and unmemorable, he was already distracting himself with thoughts of how he could best make it up to Lavinia once he got back,

_I have been pretty pushy over the years and she is a teenager._ He reasoned, _I made her do that ballet even when she told me straight out she didn't like it._ The more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was the one at fault, _She really must feel like I never listen to her if she was driven to do that. Even if girls aren't allowed in the guard, they can enter the Fighter's Guild. Maybe if I let her have a few lessons...knowing how to defend herself can't hurt. So long as she doesn't run headfirst into danger like her father._

On the long hours of free time he had (he may as well have just made a few visits to Bravil instead renting a room in the shoddy inn), he sat on the steps of the chapel, idly watching people visit the statue of the Lucky Old Lady. In particular, a reclusive Bosmer who would not talk to anyone who visited practically every day when dusk had fallen.

He wondered idly as the Bosmer retreated back into his house what exactly he was wishing for. Perhaps an estranged lover or child. He didn't consider himself a superstitious man but, the more he watched the locals come and go, he wondered if it actually worked, _Why else would someone go back there every day?_ When darkness fell and the only people in the streets were the guards, he approached the statue.

Imitating what others had done, he kissed the Lucky Old Lady's cheek and wished in his mind, _I wish Lavinia will do all she's capable of._

By the time he had to leave, he had decided what to do. He would take her out of ballet class, get Volanaro (he suddenly didn't seem so bad in his mind) to teach her some Destruction magic, find a suitable swordsman to train her in combat and, just to convince her he meant it, buy her two shortswords from the Imperial City as a present. It would mean another day away from Bruma but it was only one day. He didn't think anything of it at the time. He could just say he had been sidetracked to the captain if he asked. Not that he supposed he would; the new captain was more easy-going on his soldiers than Raeniel.

He reached the Red Ring road and directed his horse down the bridge to the city. It was about midday at that time. Since he'd never been to the Imperial City, it took him a while to navigate his way to the Market District, in between dodging the beggars (the Imperial City seemed to have ten times as many beggars than any town he had visited).

When he did find a recommended weapons' dealer, he found the prices a lot more than he first thought, _How long did Lavinia save up to buy those daggers?_ He wondered, as he checked an elven shortsword, _And, why ebony and elven?_ He added, in his mind, _Odd combination. _Elven was light and speedy, the favourite of assassins (he quickly pushed such thoughts of his mind because the picture of Lavinia as an assassin was too much to bear), while ebony was heavy and destructive, best for big battles and favoured by mercenaries.

It was a strange combination in anyone's way of thinking but he knew it was her favourite so he bought the two. He got it specially wrapped up in linen and, deciding that he'd used up too much money for an inn in the city, went back to his horse with the intent of going to the Waywet inn for the night. The inn was empty apart for a pair of men cloaked in black in the corner.

He didn't know what they were talking about since he couldn't hear a word they were saying, their voices were so low. He did notice that one was remarkably paler and more wrinkled than the other. As soon as he walked in, that wrinkled one pointed a long-nailed finger to him and the other nodded. With that, they stood up and prepared to leave. Still, they were not remarkable and he had forgotten about them as soon as he had stretched himself out on the bed.

He managed to sleep late and, as soon as he saw how high in the sky the sun was, he barrelled downstairs, throwing the room fee onto the bar and leaping on his horse, _Damn it!_ He groaned, as he egged his horse along the road, _Lavinia's going to kill me!_

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_Soren_

_Dearest son,_

_It seems Mephala is on our side! And, I don't just mean that the Count is a few days away from death by my orchestration. The lumbering oaf, Burd, is out of town and leaving his foolish headstrong daughter under house arrest. I may no longer be their captain but I can still get past those pathetic guards he's set to keep an eye on her. You see, what he did was hire guards that would keep her in, not keep others out. The ashborn girl's a sitting duck!_

_Saeniel, here's the plan. You must slip in during the changing of the guard. That Soren is a very easy target if you need to use force but do try not to make a scene. That's the last thing we want. A sleeping draught in the drink should be more than sufficient. Within this letter, I have enclosed a handkerchief specially doused in a potion that will knock anyone unconsicous. Simply put it over her face and she will be helpless._

_But, do not harm her! Take her to me. After all, she has become such a fine little flower that it would be a shame to waste her. I will pleasure myself upon her and, if we have time, you can help yourself as well. When she has given us all she can, I hope you do not mind me taking the honour of killing her and leaving her body to burn in our cabin. By the time the guards have found her missing, she shall be ash and we shall be well on our way to Morrowind._

_Yes, dear Saeniel, I believe that we have had enough of Cyrodiil and it is time for us to return to Morrowind and the Morag Tong now that our mission shall be complete. The last of the Harlas is done for!_

_Your loving father,_

_Raeniel_

Every time he read over it, Soren's blood chilled further. Though the Count had died only two days ago, it was completely overshadowed by this. The letter had been found in Burd's empty house and only confirmed it. There was no point picking through the smouldering ruins of the cabin. He had voiced this to the others that they would find nothing and whatever they found would be beyond their help,

_Where is Burd when you need him?_ He wondered, over and over again, as he let the hand holding the letter drop to his side, _He was meant to come back yesterday. _There was no use blaming him, though. The guards had failed Lavinia, him most of all. This knowledge did not make him grief-stricken, as he thought it would. Just numb to the core. Rather like the town behind him.

It was noon but a winter mist had settled around them, making the sky invisible. The blackened ruins of the cabin were painfully clear in front of him, as were the shapes of the guards drifting around it, picking through the wreckage. Looking for evidence, looking for a body. They had already found two daggers, both with the blades broken off. One elven, one ebony, now in a small sack at his feet.

The amount of proof of this terrible crime was sparse but painfully clear. Clear as the smoke that had risen from the clump of trees in the early hours of the morning that made the guards rush to the scene and rouse Soren from his sleeping-draught-induced torpor. Of course, by then, it was too late to do anything. The roof had already fallen in by the time water was being thrown on it and all that was left were soot-covered jagged remains sticking out of the snow like fangs.

When he had returned to Burd's house to check that Lavinia had not escaped, he had found the place empty and the letter on the table. Probably deliberately left out to show the guards just how they had failed, not once but twice. Once he had told the captain about this, news had spread like wildfire all over Bruma in what seemed like a matter of minutes and had probably got to the surrounding villages by now. Probably been spread by the part of the guard appointed to search for any sign of the criminal pair of Bosmer.

It was unbelieveable. Absolutely unbelieveable that the Captain of the Guard, however unpopular and corrupt he was, had been a murdering and perverted criminal in league with assassins, _How did we not see it?_ He kept thinking. It all made sense yet no one saw it, _We never even knew her surname was Harla. We never knew she was in danger._

A tap on his shoulder made him glance round and the captain was beside him, his small mouth downturned in an expression of dread and sorrow. Soren guessed what had happened before the three words were out of his mouth, "Burd had returned." It was as though someone had forced a gallon of icy cold snow down his throat. The numbness was replaced with cold dread, which increased tenfold as the captain added, "I can't tell him on my own."

He didn't want to be the one to tell him. He wished that such an awful duty lay with someone else. Yet, it could not go neglected so, swallowing hard, he picked up the sack in the same hand as the letter and strode through the snow, back to the town. The whole place was quiet, unusually quiet for Bruma. The mist had thinned a little but he could still see no one in the street. All the drunks were gone and even the beggars had retreated to dark corners to mourn. Though it would be expected of a town that had just lost its Count, Soren knew all too well who they were really grieving for,

"He's in the castle." The captain murmured, "In the barracks. I made him wait for us. I don't want him hearing bits of it from rumours. He deserves the whole story in one go."

Soren nodded mutely and followed him, the bag suddenly feeling much heavier than it ought to. As they went through the town, they noticed some people were out. Volanaro was sitting on the steps of the Mages' Guild, sobbing unashamedly into his hands. Matthias Draconis (probably sent to gather more information and confirm the news) ran to them, distraught, begging them to say that it wasn't true. The captain, as kindly as he could, dashed those frail hopes.

When they got to the castle, they saw all the courtiers and servants wearing solemn black. Narina, the next-in-line to be Countess, had her face covered with a veil and had the look of someone trying her very best to restrain herself. They passed through the hall and, all too soon, they were in the barracks. All before Soren had any time or space in his thoughts to compose what he was going to say.

Burd was sitting on a bench, looking rather bewildered and showing him that he really didn't have a clue what a tragedy had taken place, "What's going on?" He asked, putting his head to one side. Soren noticed a small package wrapped in linen in one hand that looked suspiciously like a gift. The possibility of who it was for made another lump rise in his throat,

"Burd, I'm afraid...Raeniel has done something...terrible..." The captain was really struggling but Burd immediately picked up on it, sitting up a little straighter,

"What is it? What did he do?"

As though on cue, the door banged open and four guards shot in, two holding between them a small figure, "Captain!" gasped a guard he recognised by name as Bor, "We've got him!"  
"Who? Raeniel?" The captain shot up, as did Burd. Bor's eyes widened at the sight of Burd and he very audibly gulped,

"No, Saeniel. He was hiding out in one of the goblin caves close to the border." The figure stirred and raised his head. The Bosmer looked utterly demented, his eyes even wider than usual and a trickle of blood drying on his face. Before anyone could stop him, he began giggling demonically and sneering at Burd,

"Where's your pretty daughter, Nord?"

Burd's eyes flashed at the mention of Lavinia and Soren's blood ran cold, "Lavinia?" He repeated, his face contorting with rage, "_What have you done to her_?"

"Keep him quiet!" ordered the captain but it was too late. Burd knew something was wrong and they could not get the bad news over with in one go. As Saeniel was gagged, Soren placed the sack on the table, wincing at the loud clunk of metal that came from it, and pulled out the letter, "Alright, Burd. I'm not going to sugarcoat this." The captain uneasily ran a hand through his hair as Burd sat down, with a frown on his face,

"What's going on?" Burd's brow creased as he eyed the sack suspiciously,

"Well, two days ago, the Count died." Burd's eyebrows raised but no significant emotion was visible, "Just recently, we found evidence that he had been slowly poisoned all this time, which accounts for his illness. And, yesterday," More audible gulps could be heard through the room. The words built in their minds and the tension pressed around on each of them, making the room suddenly unbearable to be in, "we found this letter."

Soren felt as though a spotlight had been thrown on him. His arm felt ten times as heavy as he lifted it to hand over the letter. The seconds dragged by as Burd's eyes focused on the text. The reaction was immediate and much worse than Soren could have expected. His face paled to the same colour as the parchment he held, his eyes widened to the size of coasters and his mouth fell open in horror.

To try and distract himself, Soren turned the sack upside down and let the two broken daggers fall on the table. The clatter made everyone look round and the captain, loosening his collar, said in a small voice he had never heard before, "This is all we found in the ruins. It's completely destroyed." He didn't have to say any more. The parchment fell to the floor with a barely audible _swish_ but Burd's hands remained where they were, as though he did not know it had gone.

At this point, Saeniel managed to wrestle himself out of his gag and cackle like a scamp, cracking the solemn tension, "Poor little thing, that I never got my hands on her! The sweet ashborn is now ash herself! Ashes to ashes!"

With a great roar like a wounded bear, Burd rose from the bench and reached for his claymore, looking just as demented as Saeniel as he reached back for his claymore, "_I'LL KILL YOU!_" In an instant, Soren and the captain were on him. If the captain had not helped him, Soren would not have managed to hold him back,

"No, Burd!" cried the captain, "He's not worth it! It won't bring Lavinia back!" As Burd's screams of rage began to subside, the captain turned to the guards, "Throw that filth in a dungeon and let him not say another word! Cut out his tongue if you have to!"

As Saeniel was dragged away, Burd's body slackened in Soren's grasp. As he was beckoned away by the captain, he looked round. He watched as Burd fell to his knees at the table where the hilts lay and bury his head in his arms, as though it was Lavinia's own body laid out there. His sobs reverberated through the halls of the castle and inspired many others into weeping for poor Lavinia.

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"Poor Lavinia." Soren shook his head at the twenty-three year old memory, "She didn't have to die that way. If only we had done something about those backstabbing Bosmers sooner."

"And, Raeniel has not been seen since?" The other man rasped,

"Not a whiff of him. He just vanished right after her death. I suppose he managed to get to Morrowind. We just missed him."

"I doubt it."

"Doubt what?" Soren asked, feeling the sweat on the back of his neck as he looked into the black eyeholes of the skull-mask,

"Everything. The last of the Harlas getting captured by a couple of pathetic Bosmers, was stained and then killed in a fire? I don't think I have ever heard anything so improbable or ridiculous."

With that, the lionskin-swathed stranger stood up and marched out of the bar, leaving Soren stunned.

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A/N: Don't you think we can all relate to the Lavinia-Burd argument in some way? Did I do this okay? This is a really important scene and I don't want to mess it up!


	27. Chapter 26: The Mourner

A/N: Sorry this is so late again! Blame uni, not me!

**The Lone Eagle: **Glad to know you thought the argument was okay.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Really? You thought that was unexpected? Cool.

**maskedpainter: **Ah, well, we all knew Uriel had a few screws loose. And, you really didn't see that coming? Sweet!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 26: The Mourner**

Baurus found he had a lot less to do during the months after Lenore had been brought back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Martin had to devote a lot of attention and magic to her recovery and, therefore, needed privacy. Even at this point, when Lenore was fully cured, she still spent more time at Cloud Ruler Temple than out closing Oblivion gates. Or, more precisely, more time alone with Martin. Baurus tried standing in front of the door but it felt unnecessary, since Jauffre's room was right next to it and Steffan guarded it, a Blade more experienced and successful in his career.

He found himself flicking through his collection of Black Horse Couriers during the long hours when he wasn't on duty. He had a habit of collecting articles on stories he found particularly interesting. Sometimes, they were ground-breaking news and sometimes they were stories that his intuition thought were important. One of these stories was the oldest one in his collection.

Still with many creases he had never been able to get rid of no matter how long it was pressed, the twenty-three year old Black Horse Courier article about Lavinia Harla's death, the one he had got from Burd when he met him on the mountain. Now Lenore had to stay in Cloud Ruler, he found himself taking it out a lot more often to read over it, putting the clues he had together,

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BLACK HORSE COURIER

SPECIAL EDITION

LAST OF THE HARLAS DIES. BRUMA MOURNS.

24 Evening Star 3E410

In the high town of Bruma, the close-knit community of Nords and a handful of other races all rely and trust each other. For the residents, the warmth and comfort a good friend can offer is one of the best things they have in the cold, Skyrim-like temperatures. The guards are also involved in these friendships and, even though Nords are scorned by some for their drunkeness, everyone is civil to each other. Perhaps, that is why no one saw the impending tragedy they were about to suffer coming.

In the case of Lavinia Harla, the teenage adopted daughter of diligent guard, Burd, it was not a severe chill or Bruma's infamous structural instability that struck her down but an insidious, two-faced backstabber. Raeniel, the Bosmer ex-captain of the guard, deployed his son to kidnap her in the dead of night from her home to his secluded forest cabin, where he proceeded to deflower and murder her, leaving the place ablaze with no trace of a body left to bury.

According to Soren, speaking on behalf of the shamed guards, Lavinia was under house arrest for attempting to enter the Bruma guard ranks disguised as a man (whether she was successful or not isn't clear) and Burd's influence had stopped her being thrown in prison, "Maybe, she would have been safer there." Soren adds, "And, Raeniel might not have got to her." Burd had been out of town on business that week and Raeniel seized this golden opportunity with both hands,

"I was on duty over her at the time." Soren admits, with the guilt apparent in him, "Burd didn't trust her not to try and sneak out, which she often did. Saeniel must have slipped something in my drink because, when I woke up, all the guards were yelling blue murder and Lavinia was gone. All that time, she was helpless and easy-picking for him. I've been beating myself up about it ever since."

What is more tragic and shocking is that Raeniel's awful crimes do not stop there. As frequent readers will know, the Count of Bruma recently passed away from an apparent illness. But, today, healers have discovered unmistakable traces of poison in his body and the evidence all points to Raeniel being the culprit, "He killed the Count, did this to Lavinia and shoved off, his work done! It's disgusting! The guards should have put him away years ago!"

So said J'skar, representing the Mages' Guild, "We did not like the Count much and, to honest, some of us thought 'good riddance'. But, to murder Lavinia! She was popular in the town, beloved by many. Including all of us in the Mages' Guild; she used to visit us, especially my friend Volanaro. She was a bright, beautiful and brilliant girl. Those bastard Wood Elves should be thankful they're not here. If they show their faces here again, I won't bother with guards. I'll tear him limb from limb with these claws!"

The mentioned Volanaro was unavailable for comment, as was Burd, the one who was closest to Lavinia, "They're total basketcases, both of them." J'skar explains, "Burd, most of all. He feels so guilty that he wasn't even in town when it happened and they'd had a big argument before he left. He never went outside Bruma for a day or shouted at her before now. Imagine the last thing you said to your girl was that he would not stop the guards throwing her into a dungeon."

The personal loss of these people pales in comparison, however, to the loss poor Lavinia's family has suffered. As many Dunmer will undoubtably know, nine years ago, the house of Harla fell with the family being killed off one by one and the supposedly only heir, Polixones Antonio Harla, killing himself after a long pursuit from assassins. The same assassins that Raeniel was in league with. Rumour has it that he had his only surviving daughter, Lavinia, with him during the chase and he was able to keep her out of sight until he was able to pass her onto his lifelong friend, Burd,

"She was never recorded, there is no birth certificate for her." An official in Morrowind stated, "He must have known he was going to be targeted and kept her a complete secret. That was what saved her. Those assassins had access to all records of the family and knew where all of them were. They didn't know she existed. No one in Morrowind did. Neither did anyone in Cyrodiil. They knew her name was Lavinia and that was it. Only Burd knew she was a Harla and he kept it to himself, probably in an attempt to protect her."

Polixones' death sent the same shockwaves throughout Morrowind as Lavinia's had in Cyrodiil, since he was just as popular in his home town as his daughter was in Bruma. What happened later was even more astonishing. It is certain that many Dunmer will remember how the last head of the house, Leontes Titus Harla, famously cut off his left arm at the funeral of his son and was never seen since,

"He believed that his house had fallen. His wife had died from the grief for her son just a week before and, of course, he had no idea that he had a grandchild still living. The other grandchildren, a pair of grown-up fraternal twins, were dead and, of course, Lavinia was kept a total secret. Maybe if he'd known, he wouldn't have done it." adds the official, sadly, "It brings great sadness to us that the first record of Lavinia has to be a death certificate."

Among all this grief and shock, the Morag Tong has declined to comment, although they are the prime suspects in this terrible tragedy. In the Black Horse Courier's opinion, the greatest tragedy is that, despite all the combined effort of her father, Burd and everyone around her, Lavinia could not escape her fate.

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Baurus sat against the wall, reading it over and over again as he always did. Old thoughts and theories drifted into his head, driven anew by the presence of Lenore. According to the stories from Bruma (the story was now becoming a legend), no body had ever been found. Just the broken hilts of the two daggers she had used when she had successfully been initiated into the guard. On the evidence of that, they had assumed Raeniel had been successful and Lavinia was dead,

_Why didn't they find any bones, though?_ He thought, _Dunmers are resistant to fire and I don't think any Dunmer have been successfully cremated. The fire would have at least left a skeleton and some of the body left to bury._

Of course, he had voiced none of these speculations to anyone in Bruma, least of all to Burd. It was such a sensitive topic, after all, even after so many years. It almost made him wish that he had known her, since she must have been loved if the city still mourned for her now.

He had visited to the memorial many times (mostly to try and keep Burd from getting too upset) and he knew that all of Lavinia's circle of friends tending to it regularly. They had even made a rotation of who would do it on a certain month and kept to it. It was Burd's turn this month and the twenty-third anniversary of her death was drawing near.

Thinking that Burd would probably be even worse this year, Baurus hauled himself up, put away the article and strode out of Cloud Ruler Temple. As he did, he thought the same thing he'd done every year, _Whoever said that the pain of bereavement fades with time is a liar._ In fact, Burd seemed to be getting worse as time went on. As was Volanaro, who had apparently been dating Lavinia before she died.

He had met the Altmer a week after meeting Burd. At least, it was as close to a meeting as possible in those times. Volanaro had refused to come out of his room for weeks after hearing of her death and had gone very quiet for months afterwards. Something, so he heard, that was very unusual of him.

As he strode into Bruma, the chilling mist started settling in, as it always did in winter. Mist was also connected with Lavinia: she had died on a misty night, after all. As he went through the city, he saw the telltale signs of the mourning coming up. Volanaro, wrapped in a fur cloak, was sitting on the Mages' Guild, staring in blank despair up at the sky and completely oblivious to anything around him.

He spotted Burd, standing around near the chapel, where he knew he used to wait for Lavinia to come out of classes. Upon being hailed, he looked round, "Oh, hello, Baurus." His voice was low and with the distinct sound of just barely holding it together, "Any news?"

"Oh, nothing new. What about you?" He knew that talking about business was the safest thing to do with Burd, especially at this time,

"Nah. A couple of leads on Mythic Dawn agents in the mountains but he haven't found anything."

"I see." Baurus nodded. There was a tense silence as he tried to think of something to say. Five minutes later, the chapel bell struck the hour, signalling the end of Burd's shift. With the air of a man readying himself for the gallows, the Nord turned to his house and allowed Baurus to follow him inside. While he was waiting, he glanced around the screen to the neatly-preserved room beyond.

The curtain over the big portrait had been pulled back and Lavinia's smiling face could be seen, frozen on the canvas. He glared hard at it, trying to imagine the girl with overly-large muscles on her arms, with a thinner face and a long scar down her eye.

As he walked back around, Burd emerged, wearing a dark cloak, with his hood pulled up. No words were exchanged, they just strode back out of the door. As they passed, no one tried to talk to Burd or even walk in front of him. It was almost as though his grief was a disease and, if they got too close, they would be infected. Out of the city, they went and into the woods where the memorial lay.

Silently, Burd knelt down, replaced the frosted flowers with fresh ones, untied the fraying ribbons around the vase to put new ones in their place and scraped the ice off the stone. He didn't start weeping straight away. Just as he was scraping off the frost did his hands start to shake. Baurus helped him to get the worst off, fearing that Burd might damage it if he wasn't careful. No words were spoken over the memorial. All of the words that needed to be said had been said years ago.

Baurus also made sure that Burd went straight home after doing it and didn't gravitate towards the tavern for the promise of drowning his sorrows. Volanaro was still outside the Mages' Guild, still staring and still oblivious to Selena's incessant tapping on his shoulder as Baurus passed. As he left the house and began striding back to Cloud Ruler Temple, he got to thinking again,

_I wonder if she knows how much they all suffer. I hope not. She'd be heartless if she knew about it and let them mourn for this long. And, there's another thing. Why would she stay away for so long? She seems like an independant woman but why would she stay away from people who love her for so long if she had a choice?_

He pondered over all the possible reasons. There was no way he could make a positively accurate assumption at this point, _Maybe, she was forced into something. Maybe, she was kidnapped and told they would be killed if she made contact. That's perfectly logical: I mean, a unarmed young girl alone on the mountains is a piece of cake to abduct. Then again, she's strong enough to beat any kidnapper by now, surely._ Stories of captives becoming attached to their captors floated into his mind and he wondered if she had become so bonded with her kidnapper that she didn't even think about coming back anymore.

Something dark suddenly appeared in front of him and his face went straight into it. An irate whinney made him look round, to find himself glaring into a pair of fiery-red eyes and rows of sharp teeth, "No, Shadowmere!" hissed Lenore, pulling the reins so the horse's head was restrained,

"Sorry." Baurus looked up at the dark-hooded rider. Lenore had taken to wearing the same black robe she'd worn in the Imperial City over her armour every now and again, only attached at the neck like a cloak. This hood was bigger than the Mythic Dawn one and covered even more of her face, "I didn't see you there. Are you going out?"

"Quite alright. Though, I would not recommend being inattentive of where you walk, especially at a time like this. I must attempt to regain what hold I had on the Oblivion crisis before the Xarxes incident."

"Ah, good." Baurus nodded, wondering how best to fit the question he wanted to ask into the conversation. He knew that, the longer it went on, the less likely it became so, he had to do it quickly. In the end, he settled for, "I was just in Bruma. Have you ever been there before?"

The words had the desired effect. Her gloved hands tightened on the reins, though Shadowmere was now placated, her lips pursed for a fraction of a second and her voice became strained like Burd's, "A few times. Enough to know the terrain very well. So, you need not worry about me losing my way."

"Oh, no, I'm not worrying about that. It's just...well, Captain Burd's a bit miserable and I thought a meeting with the Hero of Kvatch might be good for morale."

This was a very forward statement, he knew, and it was obvious..._Well, not obvious._ Baurus ammended in his head. There was no way anything about her could be termed obvious. Her hands tightened so much that he expected her fingers to burst through her palm and even Shadowmere became a little skittish at her mistress' distress,

"I have no time to make insignificant visits simply to cheer people up. Morale should not hinder true soldiers, after all. It is their life and duty to defend and a few personal problems should not get in the way of that." With that, she gave her horse an overly-hard kick, which made it take off at a speed that would throw any ordinary rider right off. The black horse and rider had fled out of sight before the kicked-up snow had settled.

Not unruffled, Baurus strode back up the steep slope, keeping his head down despite her advice. He had to look out for ice, of course. When he got back, Jauffre was in the Great Hall, pouring over a new edition of the Black Horse Courier with a rather pensive look on his face, "Ah, Baurus," He beckoned the other to sit by him, "I want you to have a look at these."

Producing previous copies from a pile, he pushed them towards him. Flicking through, at first, he wondered what Jauffre wanted him to notice. Everything of interest in it was the usual, of the Hero of Kvatch constantly closing gates, getting faster and faster_...wait a minute..._There was no change in the articles despite Lenore being incapacitated for so long. No one had noticed her gone,

"I knew you'd see it quickly." Jauffre nodded, when Baurus turned back to him, "There's someone other than Lenore out there, closing these gates."

"Whoever it is, they don't want to be seen." He added, looking over an article from last week, "And, they're very quick."

"And, very good at this." Jauffre admitted, "Closing gates in less than an hour!"

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_Martin_

He could not imagine why he had ever feared her. Though the Xarxes effect had gone, she had completely come out of her shell and showed herself to be a very different person from what he had once thought her to be. He loved being with her, so much that he had all but forgot about translating the Xarxes, that lay forgotten in the shrine within that hidden cupboard.

Martin had let her start going out to close gates again because he felt sure that the effect had worn off. She was talking and recognised everyone again. She was actually a little embarrassed at being so incapacitated for months and eager to get back into fighting. Of course, he wanted her to be happy but he had hesistated until she finally put her foot down, being so fed up of being 'holed up in this place'.

He did worry every now and again, even though it was completely irrational, and he was always proved wrong when she came back with a bag of new Sigil Stones to examine, a new hobby of his. Martin was all too happy to teach her how to recognise the effects of certain stones and how to utilise them in enchanting objects, since she was so fascinated with it.

A few days after her second venture, Martin found himself preparing to tell her something important but not the most important thing. She had to know that he knew, after all. Before he had a chance to organise what he was going to say, the window slid open and a shadow leapt in, "Hello, Vini." He kept calling her that simply out of habit and she didn't mind,

"Martin." She smiled the way she did when she was alone with him, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing much." He shrugged, feeling rather hot around the neck, "Listen, I need to tell you something."

"What?" She hopped up onto the dresser, where she took a liking to sitting. Putting her head to one side, her smile turned to a frown, "The Mythic Dawn hasn't managed to get in, have they?"

"No, it's just..." He subconsciously made sure the door was shut tight before beckoning her to the bathroom, where he was sure no one would hear them. Upon closing the thankfully solid door, he took a deep breath and faced her. Frowning, she sat on the counter,

"Martin, _what is it?_" She insisted,

"I've seen you before this whole Oblivion crisis." She tensed, immediately. Her equivilent of tensing, anyway, with paling knuckles and stiffening shoulders, "About...twenty years before, actually." More tensing. He saw her foot start to move ever so slowly towards the window, even though that was very tightly locked, "Do you remember that I told you that I used to worship Sanguine. Well...I saw you for the first time on the last day of my worship of him."

"And..." Her voice was constricted, something he had learnt to take as a very bad sign, "...when...exactly...was this?"

"In Fort Farragut." There was a loud clatter as the claymore she had still been holding in her hand fell to the floor. Her eyes widened slightly and she was up in a second. He grabbed hold of her shoulder, catching her just as she was about to force her fist through the window, "No! Wait, Vini!"

"You've told Jauffre, haven't you?" She snarled, in a dark voice. Turning her head, she revealed a look of utter betrayal on her face, "You're ready to arrest me, aren't you?"

"No!" gasped Martin, aghast at this accusation that he had not seen coming, "I haven't told anyone."

"No one in twenty years?" She gave a harsh, humourless laugh, "Do not be absurd! I've never heard anything so unlikely since someone told me Ocato was heterosexual."

"I'm serious!" Martin persisted, "Look at me! You know I'm a bad liar. I haven't told anyone."

After a long hard glare at him, she finally relaxed but would not relinquish him from her gaze. His face became redder and redder but he did not look away. Looking away would ruin it, "Why did you not tell anyone? You had no attachment to me then, nothing bad would have come from it and you have had years to do it."

"Don't ask me." Martin shrugged, "Call it Septim's instinct." He had started calling the prophetic dreams and other thought that didn't make logical sense 'Septim's instinct'. This seemed acceptable for she gave a small nod,

"I see." In the full cold persona that Martin dreaded seeing, she sat back down on the counter and glared out of the window, "That same Septim's instinct made your father trust me with his life in the seconds before his death."

"He doesn't hold anything against you." Martin replied, calmly, having been told by his father what to say in this situation in a dream (he was starting to get more used to them now), "He was right to trust you. I was right to trust you."

She did not look convinced but she kept her silence. Her eyes were fixed so hard on the window that he expected a smoking hole to start expanding in the glass. It was a long, unbroken silence before she turned back to him, her eyes looking more shadowed and haunted than ever. As was her voice, "You do not know the full horror of what I have done. You have no idea what sort of things I have done. If I told you, you would beg me to tear off your ears and hit your head so hard that you forgot all of it."

Martin kept his lips shut, the best strategy to reason with her,

"You have even see me sever life from flesh. You have witnessed how easy and instinctive it has become to me." She pulled back the sleeve of her chainmail, relieving it from the thick arms, "Look, Martin Septim. Look at the arms that can kill a man without a blade. Do you fear them?"

"I'd be a fool to say that I didn't." Martin admitted, truthfully, "But, you won't hurt anyone here."

She blinked and her eyebrows furrowed. Her lips remained pursed so he went on,

"You can talk all you want about how easily you can murder people but I know that you would never lay a finger on anyone here. You are not an animal that needs to kill to survive. Vini," He laid his hand upon hers as he drew closer, "you have a good heart and a gentle soul. My father saw this in you and now, I can see it. But, can you?"

She did not meet his eye. Instead, her eyes flicked downwards, to her hands. A sign that she was thinking hard, "I have done..."

He put a finger to her lips, "Don't say a thing about what you have done. Just think about what you do now. You go into Oblivion gates whenever you see one and save innocent people without thinking of a reward or even thanks for doing it. Do you want to know what I think?"

Her eyes flicked up, now with a more gentle stare than before,

"I think you've more than made up for it. How can you be a completely evil person if you act so selflessly?"

Tenderly pulling her from her seat, he wrapped his arms around her too-small waist and kissed her. She just as slowly responded, kissing him back, being as careful as though he was about to explode any minute. When they seperated, Martin felt sure that she was convinced. It felt safe to frown and say, "Wait a moment, what was that you said about Ocato?"

With a smirk, she sniggered, "It doesn't take a genius, does it? When you see him, you'll know."

"Right." Martin nodded, sincerely glad that the confession had gone so well, "I'll bear that in mind."

She had lost all scary seriousness now and was back to how she normally was with Martin, "I was going to say Adamus Phillida being married but I thought Ocato was the greater comparison."

"Ah, I didn't think you'd like him much."

"You'll find very quickly that Phillida is someone whom it is impossible to like even if you are not in the Brotherhood." Spotting his raised eyebrow, she went on, "Though I find all Legion soldiers detestable in general, he is in the highest calibre of repellance."

"What's the matter with him?" Martin asked, feeling their conversation getting back to normal tone and tension and, so, led her back into his room. As she listed the number of faults Phillida had (some of them Martin made a mental note to check since they sounded impossible of someone who was a well-respected captain), he wondered why he had become so attached to her in the past few months.

Was it pity? Was the lingering ache of sorrow for what she had endured that made him overcome his fear for her so easily? Or, maybe, it was the personality she was revealing. The magnetic girl that had come out from under the hood. Or, perhaps (and this was the best theory he could think of), it was because she reminded him of Lucien. A more active and witty version of Lucien but the similarities were obvious. He wondered if he should tell her about him but something else always came up that took his attention away.

This time, it was Lenore standing up and leaning against the window, "Let me tell you something, Martin. Becoming Emperor is what everyone wants but they don't realise the real implications of it."  
"Like what?" Martin raised an eyebrow,

"Well..." She twisted a lock of fiery hair around her finger, "...I got to thinking on my way here...when you go into the world of royalty, you never come out. You will be thrown headfirst into a world of weighty responsibility without guidance, into an endless cycle of meetings, plannings and, most of all, desperately dull dinner parties."  
"What are you trying to say?" Though, he knew full well it was useless to try and fathom what she was saying without her speaking it plainly,

"I am saying that, before you are condemned to that backlash of ultimate power over the Empire, you should experience a real party."

Without a word, she had pulled up a bag brought to her by a High Elf assassin a few weeks ago from the floor and vanished into the bathroom. Being unashamed and unafraid of seeing Lenore exposed, he followed her. She was pulling off her armour with her back to him and drawing out a long gown which, although clearly not too expensive, looked like something preserved for special occasions only.

He tried to ask her what on earth she was up to but, as always, when she had her mind on a task, the likelihood of her answering any questions halved. So, she continued tugging on the dress, fastening a grey cloak, covering her face with blue powder (with a bit of added charcoal here and there) and carefully arranging a dark, horse-hair wig. When this professional-looking ritual was complete, she turned to him, who suddenly looked rather drab in the old priest robes he had worn since Kvatch had fallen,

"Well, are you not going to make yourself nice for the evening?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips as though she had told him to get ready hours ago,

"Ah..."

She got the message simply from his awkwardness. Marching from the room, she returned with a pricey-looking outfit, a cloak the same colour as hers and a velvet hair-tie in next to no time,

"Where did you get that?" He asked, just before the outfit was thrown right into his face,

"Put it on." Her voice was not the bark of captains but it had the sort of authority that expected obedience without question. So, I undid his priest's robes and pulled on the outfit. It was a bit tight about the shoulders but it fit perfectly nonetheless. As he tugged back his hair into what he hoped would be an elegant looking ponytail, Lenore put her head to one side, examining him, "Yes, I do think we match." She nodded, after a long moment,

"Where did you get this?" It suddenly struck Martin that these clothes certainly weren't his,

"A wardrobe." _Being evasive again,_ Martin thought, as Lenore tugged the window back up,

"Ah, which wardrobe?"

"The one in Jauffre's room."

"By the Nine!" Martin gasped, "You stole from _Jauffre?_"

Lenore turned to him, with the 'you've just said something stupid' look on her face, "I may have taken it out of his wardrobe but you're the one who's wearing it. You could say we're in this together."

The whole weight of the situation and what she was probably going to try was starting to catch up with him, "Vini, this is Cloud Ruler Temple. Do you really think you can give the Blades the slip?"

"I know I can." She replied, without missing a beat, "It's you I'm worried about. You are going to have to learn about escaping very quickly. Right," She clapped her hands, "men first."

She had to be mad. What she was suggesting couldn't be true. That he, Martin Septim (he had got used to calling himself a Septim), was going to sneak out of Cloud Ruler Temple to who knew where for a seemingly-dangerous amount of time and all without any of the Blades noticing him gone. It looked like suicide and a hundred things could go wrong.

As he opened his mouth to try and reason with her (knowing it wouldn't work anyway), she got impatient, grabbed his arm and all but threw him out the window. Scrambling and suddenly realising how inappropriate the outfit Lenore picked for him was, he clung to the sides as the chilling mist pressed on him and doing all he could to remain balanced on the window ledge over the cliff face before. He knew it was not as steep a fall as Dive Rock but, in the mist, it looked like a gaping dark chasm. It was perhaps this fear that kept him quiet. The light behind from his room went dark and Lenore's dark shape slipped out the window beside him, with more grace than he could ever achieve.

Without a bit of fear, she hopped off the ledge and onto a thin strip of wall he had not spotted (since he hadn't dared to look down) as though she had just jumped the last few steps. With her hands on her hips, she grabbed his ankle and tugged him down onto the wall, where it took him a bit of slipping, sliding and a lot of help from Lenore to get onto his feet.

When Lenore was sure he was standing properly, she flattened herself against the wall. Imitating her, he found the top of his head just brushed the windowsill of Jauffre's room next to it. The window above was dark so he was either asleep or on patrol. She beckoned him along the narrow wall, keeping her back against it, moving towards the lights that he supposed were the Blades on watch. Her dress

The mist did not bother Lenore, who crept along the wall at a cautious but swift speed that Martin knew he could not keep up with. When the shapes began taking form and the mist no longer completely covered them, she carefully moved herself into a crouch and began creeping her way around a corner with the stealthy grace of a mountain lion.

Martin hesistated, knowing he could never achieve that. Again, she became impatient of waiting for him and furiously beckoned him. Carefully, all the while thinking he was going to slip off for sure, he crept around the corner and miraculously made it to Lenore's side. Once there, Lenore put her hands on her hips again and muttered, "_Honestly, do you not have a bit of stealth in you_?"

"_Strangely enough, being a priest doesn't give you much opportunity to practise sneaking about!_" Martin snapped back, his nerves now giving way to annoyance at her casual attitude to this,

"_You're being far too nervous for a situation like this._" Lenore replied, steadily, "_The less you think about the risks, the less likely they are to appear._"

"_Alright._" Martin snarled to himself, irritably, as she slid along the wall, dangerously close to the guards, "_I can do that. Not think about getting caught sneaking out, wearing Jauffre's clothes, with the Hero of Kvatch and being likely to fall to my grisely death. Yeah, alright._"

"_For a priest, you are incredibly cynical. Now, be quiet or we certainly will be caught._"

Martin was starting to think this was going to be more trouble than it was worth but he held his tongue. Her voice had become sharp and any sharper would make him fear her. Suddenly, she stopped at the point where they were just concealed from the guards by the East Wing wall. Crouching down further, she felt around the rock with her hands and, had he not been so scared of falling off, he would have looked around too.

Finally, she found what she was looking for. A small keyhole, framed with dull metal the same colour as the stone around it, "_What's that?_" Martin hissed,

"_What every high security building has._" She was reaching in her sleeves, apparently searching for something she couldn't quite find, _Maybe that's where she keeps the daggers, _thought that little part of his brain that still feared her, "_An emergency exit._" At last, she found what she was looking for and pulled out a long oblong device with many picks set into it, hanging off a very tough-looking chain that dangled on her wrist.

Before he could ask, she had set about carefully picking the lock. The chink of whatever was within the keyhole was so quiet that none of the now very clear-looking Blades heard it. After a few tense minutes that gave Martin enough time to remember that they were balanced on a wall, the lock gave way and she tugged up a narrow trapdoor made of stone that one would never know was there, _Good emergency exit._ Martin thought, despite himself. He made a mental note to remember where it was so he could use it in real times of need.

He descended down the dark, steep stairs, with the familiar feeling of deja vu kindling. He half expected his father to pop out of nowhere. Especially when Lenore closed it behind her and appeared from the darkness with a lit candle in her hand (which he guessed was something else stolen from Jauffre's room). As they descended down (though glad he was in no danger of falling to a gory death), Lenore was the one to make conversation, "This passage's greatest asset is that it can only be opened from Cloud Ruler Temple. This is a one-way path. It took me fifteen minutes to figur that out."

"You didn't have to scour this place." Martin pointed out, "You could have asked Jauffre."

"Call it _assassin's instinct._" She shrugged,

"Ah, what was that you unlocked it with?"

"Nocturnal's skeleton key." The metal daedric tool glimmered in the candlelight before it disappeared up her copious robe sleeve, "I came into possession of it many years ago and it has been of great use to me. As I say, locks only deter honest people."

Martin was left wondering whether it was really a good thing or a bad thing that he was so close to an assassin. After what felt like miles of stairs, they finally came to a flat corridor that was just as narrow as the steps. A dead end loomed towards them and Lenore, completely undeterred, leapt up to pull on a stubby piece of rope. Another trap door came down and, soon (with an easy jump from Lenore and a bit of scrabbling from Martin), they were out in the snow again, the door disappearing as though it had never been,

"You look like you've just been creeping across walls and been through an underground passage." She stated, with the air of saying that he looked like he'd been in a carriage wreck,

"And been shoved out of a window and experienced the terror of certain death." Martin pointed out, imitating her hands on hips, "Anyway, you don't."

"It's what the cloak's for." With that, she pulled down the hood she'd had up all along and began brushing him down with her hand (none too kindly), "There, that's better. Come along. The Jerall View Inn awaits."

"Oh, we're just going to Bruma?"

"Of course." She acted like it was obvious, "If we went anywhere else, we wouldn't make it back by dawn without Shadowmere."

He felt doubly grateful as she led him down to the path that he did not have to endure another Shadowmere ride. And, that their sneaking out was over. Bruma was bright lit from the combined street lamps and light from the windows. As the sounds of drunken Nords filled the air, he could have sworn he'd felt Lenore relax a little. As she pushed open the door to the warmly lit and comfortably stuffy inn, she actually smiled at the sight.

He had to admit, she had done a good job with making them both look inconspicuous. No one looked round at the sight of a Dunmer and Imperial together. Or maybe, that was because they were too drunk or busy dancing to really care. Lenore ordered their drinks and turned their conversation towards light, inconsequential things that made Martin forget about the stress of creeping out.

As the first mugfulls vanished, Martin felt more at ease and so did she. Soon, she was getting up and dragging him to the dancefloor, despite half-hearted protests that he couldn't dance. It was a miracle that her wig was staying on throughout the rigourous routines, which she seemed to know off by heart already while Martin struggled and stumbled.

It was good struggling, though. Even he had to laugh with her when he tripped over his own feet. Or, maybe that was the drink. Either the laughter or the stumbling was the drink. He wasn't sure which. Though they were both exhausted after the first music pieces (played with banjos and tinny flutes), they kept on at it for hours, never thinking about sitting down for a rest.

Lenore seemed to be enjoying herself even more than he, laughing wildly and leading them in the dance, more happy than he had ever seen her. She managed it so well that Martin's lack of skills were barely noticeable. The Nords around them did not stare but accepted them there. Or maybe, they were too drunk to notice. Martin didn't really know or care.

Finally, when they had been dancing so much that Martin wouldn't have been surprised if they had worn holes through their shoes, Lenore pulled him outside after seemingly spotting something over her shoulder. Thinking it might be a Blade that had come down to search for them, Martin hurried after her. The cold mist had dissipated but the sky was still dark. They were still safe to be out.

Lenore certainly seemed to think so for, in a moment, she had him up against the wall of the Jerall View Inn and her lips had pushed into his. No one around them paid any attention and, if they did, they certainly did the proper thing by not interrupting. When they emerged from each other, she was grinning, "Great night, eh?"

"Great night." Martin nodded, feeling rather giddy, "What now?"

"Sneaking back, of course!" She grinned, "Come on. Let's see if you're any better at it than you were before."  
"Oh, do we have to go back now?"

"Remember whose clothes you're wearing." With that, she and him went arm in arm towards the gate, laughing about Martin's dancing skills and they would have gone without distraction in a normal situation.

When they were close to the gate, they spotted a figure in yellow leaning against the wall. A Nord guard with grey-streaked hair looked up blearily at the sound of them coming. When his face came into the light, Lenore stopped dead and froze in her tracks, as though she was confronting her worst fear. The Nord was drunk, that was obvious, but looked so pathetically drunk that he could pity him.

Lenore tugged up her hood as he approached. Martin gulped, not really knowing what to do and half relying on Lenore to snap out of it and sort it out. It became clear that the Nord hadn't seen them or simply didn't register their presence. Lenore's eyes were fixed on him as he staggered and fell to his knees, "Ah," Martin decided it was time to swallow his fear and approach, "are you alright?"

"Gone..." The Nord slurred, "...she's always gone...every year...why doesn't anyone look for her..."

Suddenly, a pair of guards (sober ones this time) appeared, "There he is!" called one and they hurried over. One hauled the Nord to his feet and the other faced them, "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"Quite alright." Lenore's voice was sharp, tense and strained, completely different from her carefree tone of before, "Do not trouble yourself with us. What has happened to Burd?"

"You don't know?" The guard blinked in surprise and Martin suddenly recognised the drunken Nord as the captain of the Bruma guard that had visited Cloud Ruler Temple once, "He's always like this. Around Evening Star, especially. I suppose you know why."  
"Why?" Lenore asked, in the same voice that gave nothing away.

The guard stared, "Are you new in town?"

"It has been a while since I visited Bruma." Her eyes, he realised, were still on Burd, who was being quietly led away, "I am a little behind the times."

"_Really_ behind the times." The guard corrected, "It's because he's mourning for his daughter. She died in Evening Star years ago."

"Twenty-three years ago." Lenore nodded, her lips suddenly pursing and her eyes glaring at Burd's retreating back, "What kind of fool grieves for one person for twenty-three years? Is he such a faint-heart that he cannot bear even that?"

Martin started. Lenore was cold and sharp at times but never downright insulting and insensitive. What astonished him even more was what she did next. All mirth and frivolity had dropped from her as she unceremoniously grabbed Burd from the guard with ease and snapped, "I will deal with this fool. You guards do not need to be concerned with drunkards in this crisis."

Though she had neither of her claymores and her large arms weren't visible, the guards seemed to instinctively know not to get in her way. She harshly hauled the Nord purposefully away, leaving Martin trying to keep up with her. She made it through the crowds with no problem. Perhaps, even when they were drunk, the Nords knew she was not be trifled with.

Stumbling on the frosted paths a little, Martin managed to keep up with her as she marched with Burd draped on her shoulder like one of the wounded from a battle. The mood of the evening was irreversably dampened and he knew that anything he could say to try and lighten it up again when she was in this much of a bad mood would only make it worse.

Once she reached a log cabin, she produced a key from her pocket, which astonishingly fit straight into the lock and let the door open. As though she had been in the house a hundred times, she strode straight through the dining room and down a set of stairs which he thought must lead to the sleeping quarters. Martin was left, standing uncomfortably in the dark house when a cold draught making him shiver.

While trying to comprehend why this Nord whom anyone could feel sorry for only inspired annoyance in Lenore. It certainly wasn't like her. To try and distract himself while he waited, he glanced around and spotted a lot of picture-frames set onto the round table. Picking up the pictures one by one, he took them to the window to get a good look.

He almost dropped them when he did, deja vu taking over again. Images of flaming log corridors appeared in his memory once more as he looked upon exactly the same pictures as he had seen in his dreams. And, in each of those pictures, was Lenore's face. A younger, normal-looking and more carefree Lenore but her, nonetheless.

He had got about halfway through the numourous paintings when Lenore appeared, stomping back up the stairs in an even worse mood. Seeing him, she snatched the picture from him, took one look at her own face and threw it down on the table in obvious disgust, sending the a dozen others on their faces, "Vini!" gasped Martin, "What did you-?"

"Come, before I lock you in!" She snapped, spinning on her heel and marching out. Without a chance to say anything, Martin hurried after her, completely astonished and baffled that she could act like that. She stormed straight out of Bruma with him, bewildered, following behind.

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A/N: A rather unexpected reaction from Lenore, don't you think?


	28. Chapter 27: A Cheydinhal Winter

A/N: I've been neglecting the Indarys family as of late, haven't I? So, here's another chapter from Cheydinhal to make up for it!

**tonfalove: **Never apologise for a long review!

**maskedpainter: **Cool. I'd like a copy of his diary! And, my favourite colour's red. Why d'you ask?

**nitro-pino: **Ah, who knows what goes on in her head!

**Lily Ariel Black: **Yeah, you've got to feel sorry for poor old Burd, don't you?

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Glad you think my Black Horse Courier article was okay!

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**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 27: A Cheydinhal Winter**

Riverview, now divested of Voranil (who had been arrested as a Skooma dealer) and the Mythic Dawn maids (who had vanished at the beginning of the Oblivion crisis), had now finished its refurbishment and Andel had decided to take Farwil, Ulene, Bremman and Naspia out to dinner. Not for any real occasion, except it was to celebrate the fact that the Oblivion crisis had not worsened,

"Lenore really must be working hard." Naspia commented, as they sat around the table,

"I do hope she's not putting herself in too much danger, though." Ulene pointed out. Whenever the topic turned to Lenore (which was very often), Ulene would always act like her mother, fretting over her well-being with every opportunity (which, Andel thought, was a little pointless since Lenore was always in danger), "She's not the most healthy of people."  
"I'm sure she's doing just fine." Bremman intervened, "She's a tough woman, even if you think she's 'not the most healthy of people'."

"Will you all just _give a rest?_" Farwil snarled, scowling darkly, glaring out of the window as though he wanted to put his fist through it. That was one real reason Andel had arranged this. For some reason, and he had no idea what, he had become irate over every little thing and especially when Lenore was mentioned. Though, he had absolutely no reason to despise talking about Lenore,

"Now, now, Farwil," Andel patted his shoulder, making his son turn his scowl on him. This is what Andel had been worrying about it; that Farwil would take it upon himself to ruin the whole evening with his unfathomable bad mood, "There's no need to act like that when we're eating out."

"Tell them to talk about something else, then." He snapped, "Always Lenore this and Lenore that, like she's bloody Akatosh!"

"_Farwil! That's enough!_" Andel's cheeks flared at this, as the waitress appeared, and he sincerely hoped she had not heard. If she had, she did not act as though she did, however, and took their orders without comment. As she left, Andel had a look around. The place was only half full, with a few nobles scattered around and one family who had probably been saving up for months to come here. A corner close to the door was in shadow and he could have sworn there was someone sitting at the table there. But he couldn't be sure.

Turning back, he tried to talk to Farwil, who had settled into a sulky silence, "Farwil, please try to be cheerful. You've got no reason to be miserable."

Now, Farwil would not even look at him, just glared out of the window with his arms folded. Andel noticed Bremman had stopped conversing with Ulene and was watching them. Feeling himself flush at his audience, he turned back to his son, "Look, is it about the Knights of the Thorn? I know that no one's been signing up but that won't be permanent-"

"As if I care about that anymore!" Farwil snarled, "It was a stupid, wannabe Fighter's Guild and a waste of money!"

"Now, don't say that." Andel tried, but Farwil flinched away from the hand on his shoulder, "Once this dratted Oblivion crisis is over, I'm sure it can be restored. Maybe, Lenore might be interested in training the new recruits." He was sure this might reassure him since it was a prospect of seeing Lenore more often. This had the absolutely opposite effect on him, however. He scrunched up his fists and scowled,

"She'd never think twice about training them and they wouldn't want to be trained by her."

"Oh, now, Farwil, that's not true. Who wouldn't want to be trained by her? It would be a great honour to be-"

"Can't you talk about anything else?" Farwil cut across him, as the first course arrived, "I'm sick of hearing of her all the time. She only closes a few Oblivion gates. So what?" With that, he ended the awful conversation by stuffing a large amount of food into his mouth with a sulky rudeness. Andel gave up trying to reason with him as he dug in. It was dragging down the whole mood and, perhaps, if the topic turned away from Lenore, he would be a little less sullen.

With that in mind, he turned his attention to Naspia telling the story about her recent visit to Bruma, "...Soren is a true gentleman but he told me not to try and visit during Evening Star, would you believe? All because of some death their mourning. Not the previous Count, mind, someone else."

"Oh, do you mean Lavinia Harla?"

There was a loud clatter as Farwil dropped his fork onto the clean plate. His head had snapped up at the word 'Lavinia' and he was listening intently. Leaping at this distraction, Andel pressed on, "Ah, yes, I have heard of her. The last of the Harlas, if I am correct."

"Yes." Ulene took the helm of the conversation as she pushed away her empty plate, "I'm sure the Count knows the whole story but apparently, people in Bruma still mourn her death."  
"It was very sad." Andel nodded, sagely, as the story emerged from his memory, "I suppose it's because there has been no closure. Those Bosmers were never found."

"What happened?" Bremman asked, "I've never been to Bruma."

"The story goes that Lavinia Harla lived in Bruma under the care of Captain Burd when her family were killed by assassins in Morrowind. Unfortunately, one of them managed to intergrate into Bruma and found her. So, he kidnapped her and killed her in the night. No one in Morrowind knew she existed before she died and no one in Bruma knew she was in danger. And, the girl was only a teenager when it happened, apparently. Poor thing."

"Have you heard it, Farwil?" asked Bremman, noticing Farwil's sudden attentiveness. Farwil, on the other hand, flushed as though he'd been asked about something private and muttered,

"Just...heard the name somewhere."

Ulene put her head to one side, like she always did when she was thinking about something hard, "Yes, I asked Lenore about it." Farwil immediately grew angry but said nothing, "I thought she might be related in some way. It was the hair, you see. She's got the Harla hair colour."  
"Yes, that's what I thought." nodded Andel, thoughtfully, reawakening his old speculations, "And, what did she say when you asked her about it?"

"She said she'd never heard of it. Then again, I don't suppose the whole disaster happened in her lifetime."

"What d'you mean?" Naspia glanced round, bemused,

"Oh, well, she is very young. I can tell. Younger than Farwil, I'd say. Of course, she doesn't act like it but I can tell. When you're a healer, you get a good grasp of how to tell people's age."

"Younger than Farwil?" Andel was surprised by this claim. Of course, like Ulene said, she didn't act like it and she didn't exactly look old. Still, if she was a high member in this strange guild she was in and had a husband (however short-lived that was), he would have presumed she was older. Then again, she had mentioned being a teenager when she joined...

When he turned his attention back to the present, they were talking about the Harlas again. Ulene was describing how she met the wife of Polixones, Desdamona, "...wildest woman I ever met before she married. Then again, Polixones himself was a wild one too. He was famous for it. They called him 'Harla's mad son'. Not to his father's face, of course."

"Ah, yes." Andel interrupted, the long-ago memories coming back, "His father couldn't have been more different. He was someone you would not want to invite to a casual tea party, I can tell you. I remember I was a good friend of Polixones' twins, Martius and Ophelia. Farwil met them too but I suppose he was too young to remember. Lord Harla came completely unannounced to their house while we were there on a visit and Farwil hid behind me at the sight of him."

Naspia muffled on her titters with a fake cough, "Was he a scary-looking person?"

"Oh, I don't mind admitting that he was." Andel nodded, trying to save Farwil some embarrassment, "If you'd seen him, you'd know. He was called 'the lone wolf' among us Indarys. He kept to himself and only went to extremely important events. Nothing trivial ever pleased him and I don't think he really saw anyone as an equal. The way he talked to me during that visit, you'd think I was a stablehand!"

The next course came but the subject did not sway. Farwil stayed out of the conversation, continuing to glare moodily out of the window. Giving up trying to talk to him, Andel concentrated on making sure the other three were having a good time. But, as it went on, he noticed Bremman getting steadily more uneasy as time went on. Once he had finished his dish, he asked him what was wrong,

"It's just..." Bremman glanced over Andel's shoulder, "...that man over there's done nothing but stare at us ever since we mentioned the Harlas."

Looking around, he spotted a man in the shadowed corner, swathed in a dark cloak and holding a smoking pipe in the fingers of his right hand. But, it was the face that made him freeze. Or, what could be called the face. It was completely obstructed by what looked like a wolf skull but he could feel the stare coming from the black eye sockets.

He felt himself freeze and break out in a sweat, as though he was before Lenore's stare. He quickly looked back around to Bremman's nod, "Yeah. He's been giving me the creeps ever since we arrived."

When the waitress came to collect their plates, Andel stopped her, "Ah, who's that?"

As soon as she realised who he meant, she swallowed, "Oh, he's been around the town for days. Just lurking about all over the place. No one's gone near him and he hasn't gone near anyone. But, I see what you mean. He does give people the creeps. Do you want me to ask him to leave?"

She was clearly terrified at the prospect of approaching such a man so Andel decided to be kind and politely refused, saying they were on their last course anyway. Now that he realised the man was there, Andel found himself becoming more and more nervous and wishing he had taken up the waitress' offer. Farwil was nervously glancing back as well and Andel wondered if this was anything like the time he first met Lenore.

They finished their final course unnaturally quickly, as the women began to take notice of the man too. When they were standing up to leave, Andel glanced again at him. As they left and passed him on their way to the door, the skull-masked man exhaled a mouthful of a foul-smelling smoke he recognised vaguely from Morrowind which made Naspia and Bremman cough.

Once they got out, everyone visibly relaxed. Though, that was short-lived. Snow had begun to settle that they had not seen coming and all five of them were caught without cloaks. All were shivering by the time they reached Castle Cheydinhal and were very glad to reach the warmth of the drawing room. It was strange because only one in four winters in Cheydinhal had snow. The rest of the time, it was just cold winds and heavy rain,

_Snow's better than rain, though._ Andel reasoned, _At least, it wasn't a blizzard._ Though, in any other circumstance, he didn't like the snow, Andel felt a bit more forgiving towards it. It was so much better than the threatening fires of Oblivion and made him feel that they were that much further away from reality. The conversation still stayed with the Harlas, mostly with Naspia and Bremman asking about them,

"Well, they all got killed off by the Morag Tong or so I heard. Well, Polixones' family was. Lord and Lady Harla were left alone. Then, Lady Harla died of grief and Lord Harla disappeared after the mass funeral. I think Count Indarys told me once that he attended."

"Yes." Andel nodded, "I was there to pay my respects to Martius and Ophelia. Lord Harla was there, of course, and rumour had it he hadn't said a word to anyone since his son's body had been found. When it was time for him to make a speech, he just went to the coffin, pulled out an axe and cut off his left arm!" Naspia gave a gasp of horror, "I know." Andel nodded, "We were all sure he had gone completely insane at that point. I suppose he died on the mountains or something similar. He hasn't been seen since."

After the talk had come back to more innocent topics, Andel thought he might as well meet with Garrus to see if anything important had happened. Donning a fur cloak this time, he strode out of the castle. He barely got further than the bottom of the hill however when something cold and smooth closed over his mouth. Crying out a muffled and useless shout, he could do nothing as he was dragged into a shadowy alley,

"Evening, Cheydinhal." A gravelly voice that sounded like a man that smoked too much. The same Morrowind tobacco stench hung in the air, leaving no doubt who his attacker was. It was useless to try and break free. Though only one hand and arm was holding him and yet, he was held with such strength that the other one would be just unnecessary. He felt tiny and flimsy compared to his captor and began to lose hope, praying that he was making a noise that was audible enough for a passing guard to hear. Or, that someone had seen their Count being dragged into the shadows, "Easy now. I don't attack unless provoked."

"_Who are you? Release me at once before I have the guards on you!_" He tried to scream but what came out was, "Mmfffhhhh!"

"You'd best be keeping quiet, Cheydinhal. I don't particularly want to spend my weekend being chased by guards and, seeing that I don't mean you any harm, it would be pointless to keep this up. Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know _and_ keep quiet about my actions or do I really have to drag you out of the city?"

Andel, though everything in his body screamed at him not to, gave a small nod. He was not released but the hand (he realised it was a hand at that point) moved from his mouth to his neck. Though, he felt this was a more serious threat. The hand was covered with armour and it may as well have been made of metal since it felt so strong. One squeeze would probably break his neck,

"Please," He gasped, trying his best not to succumb to panic, "what do you want from me?"

"Just a bit of information is all I want from you." The smell was more potent and he could feel the skull nudging into the back of his head. As Andel thought of all the possible things he could be asked, his captor seemed to read his mind and gave a grunt of something between annoyance and disgust, "Nothing too important to you, Cheydinhal. It shouldn't be too hard to give it away."

Andel still had many questions he wanted to ask but he kept quiet. Instead, he tried to piece together the small clues he had. The man was about his height (he guessed that from where he felt the skull on his scalp) and was probably a Dunmer (he had a very distinct Morrowind sort of accent that he had lost over his time in Cyrodiil). The fact that he was strong went without saying,

"I'll take your silence as a yes." He grunted, "I want to know where this Lenore would be right now."

Though this was a very strange question, Andel could not help but relax momentarily, knowing that his family weren't in danger, but he panicked anew at the idea of this man approaching Lenore. Though she was strong, she could be injured. She was not invincible and, if she was taken by surprise like he had been... "What do you want with her? If you hurt her-"

"I don't remember saying you could ask me anything." Andel gulped, waiting for the fingers to tighten. But, it never happened. After a small pause, he asked again, "So, where is she?"

"I-I'm not too sure. She didn't say where she would go." He stuttered, despite himself, "But, if she is working with the Blades, she would be around Bruma." He felt that was safest. If she was around the Blades, they would surely protect her from an attack. Or, it would put him off. If it was putting him off, however, he didn't show it,

"So, if I were to stay around County Bruma, I would probably encounter her sooner or later. Correct, Cheydinhal?"

Andel nodded, mutely, feeling as though he was betraying her with every moment and wishing the guards would find out their Count was in danger quickly. With a grunt of approval, the arms released him and vanished. Andel lost his balance, his legs not foreseeing the sudden need to support him, and fell into the snow. By the time he had picked himself up and looked round, his captor had already vanished into the lengthening shadows.

He took two steps before he spotted Garrus and suddenly remembered how much danger Lenore was in, "Garrus! Garrus!" He cried, hurrying up to him, slipping on the frozen snow. He was caught by Garrus, who was immediately on the alert as he always was,

"Count! What's the matter?" He spotted immediately that something was wrong by the look on his face,

"I-I was just attacked-!"

"_What?_ By who? Where did he go?"

Andel pointed mutely to the alley he had been dragged into, feeling too shaken to do much else. He called the guards and half carried Andel back into the castle. Once he had reached the safety of the hall, he felt he could walk normally again and half-staggered back into the drawing room, where the four were still congregated. Bremman realised something was up at once. He supposed it was his experience in the Fighter's Guild that made him doubly aware. Ulene too shot up and pushed a glass of Surielle wine into his hand,

"What happened, Father?" Farwil demanded somewhere from his right,

"He was attacked. Or, so he said." Garrus explained, as the wine slid down his throat, calming Andel a little,

"Well, it wasn't so much an attack. He just grabbed me and dragged me into an alley."

"What did he want?" Farwil was starting to panic, that was clear, "You weren't robbed, were you, Father?"

"No, no." He shook his head, though checking his pockets just to make sure, "He wanted to know where Lenore was. Oh, Garrus! I think she might be in danger!"

"Was this man a Mythic Dawn agent?"

"I don't know!" Andel's voice grew higher with fear, "It was the cloaked man with the skull over his face we saw in Riverview." He cried, suddenly remembering. He could feel a general intake of breath around him,

"How do you know?" Garrus asked, puzzled,

"I recognised the smell. He smoked a pipe with the same type of tobacco I smelled on him."

"I see." Garrus seemed convinced and went on, "What exactly did he say?"

"He told me that he didn't want anyone to see him or know he was here. He kept calling me 'Cheydinhal' and threatened to drag me out of the city if I made a fuss."

"'Cheydinhal', eh?" Ulene put in, "That's what Dunmer lords used to call each other, by the name of the place they ruled.

"Yes, yes, he was a Dunmer!" Andel nodded, frantically. Garrus, thankfully, stayed calm throughout this,

"Alright. I think that's all we need. We'll spread out over County Cheydinhal and send a warning to Bruma. Hopefully, they'll be able to pass it onto Lenore."

As Garrus hurried out, Andel had managed to calm down and feel a bit more safe. Farwil, having completely forgotten to be sulky, stayed by his father until the both of them retired. By then, Andel had completely forgiven him for acting up during their meal at Riverview and was starting to think a little more clearly.

He began to realise that he had probably overreacted over the amount of danger Lenore was in. Like Bremman said, she wa a tough woman and, if she could deal with the hordes of Oblivion on a regular basis, she could certainly deal with one Dunmer, no matter how strong he was. He didn't voice these out loud as he sat by the fire, of course, but he began to feel more and more confident that it was nothing to worry about. Just a moment's panic and that was all there was to it.

With his mind at rest, he retired around midnight, sure that the man would be caught and questioned by sunrise. As he relaxed back into bed, he was sure that he had nothing to fear; a miracle considering what was going on in the world now. His mind, however, seemed to be still unsettled. He had a nightmare, a very vivid and very frightening one.

He was still in his bedroom but the light outside had changed from the soft white of the moons to a bloody red. Worrying about what had happened, he left the room and descended the stairs. Dark figures were lying prone as though they had been struck over the head with mallets. Everything was so shadowed that he could not make out who they were.

Everything was black and red. The once warmly orange torchflames had turned bright red so everything looked as though it was drenched in blood. Fear rekindled in him and he stared about. He knew this was Castle Cheydinhal, of course, but everything looks so scary and threatening now that it had become completely unrecognisable.

Then, he realised something was moving downstairs and, losing his nerve completely, he dove around a corner, so he could watch without being seen. Andel could see human shapes but whatever they were could not be called human. Or, not full human, anyway. No full human could move in such a smooth, liquid way. They were more like shadows than real humans.

Yet, there was colour in them. They had faces and hair. The one closest to his hiding place was a pale blonde girl with piercing blue eyes that he felt would certainly pick him out. A voice, an Argonian one, that went in and out of focus like a badly-performed spell so much that he could not understand what they were saying. Other voices answered but he did not hear them. Something else caught his attention. The sound of shouting and bangs in the distance, coming from the general direction of Farwil's room. Panic was now seizing him. He wanted to go and help his son, of course, but he did not want those things to see him.

Then, something happened to make his heart stop. A door opened and a dark-robed figure glided out, carrying a limp figure in its arms. That figure was clothed in a pale nightshirt and had dark hair, "Farwil!" He gasped, without meaning to. The figure glanced around, showing the bottom half of a stubble-covered Imperial face. Andel froze, fear keeping him in his place and wishing he had brought a weapon from his room.

Suddenly, a shadow melted out the darkness and covered his mouth, like his attacker had done that evening. Though he struggled hard against the much thinner arm, he still could not break free. All he could do was watch as his son was carried away by these creatures as he was inexorably dragged back towards his room. As he panicked more and more, a smooth, Breton voice murmured, "Now, now, there's no need to worry. We will not hurt your son...unnecessarily."

Then, a moment of terrifying blackness fell and he was back in bed, drenched in sweat. Sitting bolt-upright, he gasped for breath as his heart thundered his chest, _Calm down, Andel._ He told himself, _It was just a dream...just a dream...Farwil's safe and sound in bed and everything's fine..._Once he felt a bit calmer, he slumped back into bed, _This crisis must be getting to me. That's what's happening to Farwil, I think. It's getting to us both._

He managed to calm down enough to get back to sleep again (though, not without a peek outside his room just to check that everything was normal) and he was not disturbed by nightmares for the rest of the night. Or, at least, he wasn't disturbed until the next morning. A scream jolted him from his sleep, making him throw himself out of bed, looking for the noise. He was far too on edge to be irritated and all sorts of horrible possibilities came to his mind as he ran.

He ran straight into Ulene in front of Farwil's room. She was in floods of tears and seemed utterly hysterical, "Oh, Count! Count, it's terrible!"

"Wh-what is-?" The answer lay in Farwil's room. In the form of an empty bed.

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A/N: Dun, dun, dun! Farwil's gone!


	29. Chapter 28: The Revelation

A/N: Ooh, it's all coming together now, isn't it? But, this isn't over yet. Not by a long shot!

**Miss Lieress: **I'm glad you consider this a good Halloween present! BTW, have you seen my Halloween chibi pictures on my DeviantArt account?

**maskedpainter: **Ah, light or dark, it doesn't matter! Don't worry! I am only too happy to satisfy your Septim cravings.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Not to worry, all will be revealed in due time!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 28: The Revelation**

Lenore did not return after their little outing for a full week and Martin was left to attempt a straight face when Jauffre moaned about one of his best outfits being mysteriously soaked from the knees down. Of course, he didn't think that Martin might be behind it. Simply a prankster stable boy. And, he didn't ask why Martin was so tired that morning either or realise Lenore had been there. He had to admit, she did know how to cover herself without seeming to mean it.

He couldn't help but wonder why Lenore had been so irritated at Burd being so pathetically mourning when Martin felt nothing but sympathy for him. She was such a compassionate person so she should feel more sorry for him than he. It just didn't make any sense. And, why, _why_, were there pictures of Lenore in Burd's house?

Since they had been in his dreams, he knew they were important. Of course they were, they were of Lenore. Unable to bear the confusion and looping in his thoughts, he found Baurus and casually mentioned Burd in conversation,

"Noticed too, have you?" Baurus stated, though with a clear look on his face that said he did not believe a word of Martin's feeble lie that he had noticed Burd becoming subdued as of late, "Mourning for his dead daughter. Well, adopted daughter. Her name was Lavinia Harla. She was a Dunmer."

"A Dunmer?" Martin repeated, glancing around, "Lavinia's a rather funny name for a Dunmer."

"So's Lenore, don't you think?" Baurus was getting at something and it was clear what, "He showed me a picture of Lavinia once. She had bright orange hair."

Martin's eyes widened. They wandered outside into a great snowstorm. Martin pulled up his hood to try and shield himself from the worst of it. They didn't speak again until they'd reached the walls and, soon, they were looking out at the shadow before them that was Bruma, "It's the the twenty-third anniversary of the day she supposedly died tomorrow." Baurus informed him,

"Why is everyone this bad at handling it?" Martin wondered aloud,

"She was well-loved." Baurus shrugged, "Well, that's what everyone says, and I suppose it is true. I happened around the same time the last Count died and it completely overshadowed it. I think it was because there's been no real closure to this. Both her murderers are still on the loose and no one's any closer to catching them then they were twenty-three years ago."

"Both of them?"

"Wood elves. A father and son. They caught the son, mind, but he got out. He hasn't been seen in Cyrodiil since and Bruma have said they're banishing him from this place."

"What about the father?"

"Not a trace. Everyone thinks he escaped to Morrowind."

"But, you don't?"

"There was no sign of him in Morrowind, either." Baurus glanced up at a dark shape of a bird circling overhead, "Guards on the borders were on the lookout for him but nothing. Just a small sighting of his son. It's really not the way anyone would have it end; the people who did just slipping through the nets like that."

"Yeah." Martin nodded. Looking down, he spotted the dark shape of Shadowmere (even now, he shivered at the sight of the animal) with Lenore astride. The gates were opened and she came, shrouded in her dark robe flecked liberally with white. No one came to take Shadowmere (the Blades were too scared to go near her) but no one needed to. The horse was capable of finding its way to the stables by itself.

Martin hailed her and they made friendly, idle conversation. He didn't mention what went on in Bruma or anything Baurus had told him, since he couldn't find any openings to sneak it into the conversation. When they got inside, Lenore did not take off her robe but merely put down her hood, sat on one of the tables in the Great Hall and upturned the bag of new Sigil Stones for Martin to examine.

Soon, they were engaging in civil and unimportant topics and Martin all but forgot about what he had just been told. That is, until he and Lenore decided to talk privately in his room (a cover for some intimacy together). Here, Lenore became more relaxed and their talk actually started to shift towards the Dark Brotherhood without them meaning to,

"There's a Blade here called Belisarius, y'know."

Her head pricked up at this and her eyes widened, "_Really?_"

"Yes. He said that he shared his name with a murderer. You, ah, wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"

She gave a small nod, "Terrible spectrophobe." She added, on an afterthought,

"Spectrophobe?"

"Afraid of ghosts." She explained, "It's so much fun to take advantage of that every now and again."

"He's scared of ghosts?" Martin repeated, confused, "And, he's in the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Stranger things have happened." Lenore shrugged, carelessly, "The Hero of Kvatch being in the Dark Brotherhood, for one."

Martin chuckled as she went on,

"And, scared of vampires, too. Unfortunately, he's very bad at recognising them. It makes him terribly paranoid."

"And, you're not?" Martin asked, noticing her amusement,

"No, not especially. Well, I do admit to being a bit vampire-ish myself." She said, carelessly, "I mean, I like going out at night, don't mind the extreme cold, I can't stand garlic, I sleep in a coffin-"

"You sleep in a _coffin?_" Martin repeated,

"Well, not many people know that part." She answered, in the same careless way as though this was something completely normal she was talking about, "It's hidden under a sleeping slab. No one knows it's there."

When they went to bed (Martin more perturbed than her), the snow storm had cleared but the mist still pressed against the windows. Lenore still used the same nightgown she had borrowed from Jena. Though it was perfectly acceptable to go to bed without, she was somewhat of a prude and never exposed herself unless she had to.

Which was somewhat justified. He knew just how many scars, tattoos and other marks she had all over her body. He had managed to persuade her to let him heal up the nastiest-looking one on her stomach but he spotted her hand upon it a few times as though she missed it. Though, why anyone would miss such a disfigurement, no matter how unnoticeable it was, could not be comprehended.

The scar on her face was still there and she had stopped using the concealer to cover it (since she claimed that it kept melting off when she was closing Gates). Martin always disliked that one, not the least because it was the most visible. Close up, it ended with a small circle, like there was a permanent tear running down her face.

Martin's nights, though eventful, had been relatively dream-free. Something he was very grateful for. He didn't want to wake her up in the middle of the night all the time. So, this night came as quite a shock to him. He was standing on the walls of Cloud Ruler Temple and all around him was in flames. Holding up an arm in front of his face, he felt something rush by him.

Both claymores drawn, Lenore ran past him, her hood blowing back and making her hair blend in with the flames that engulfed her. He did not wake with a loud cry, just gave a small jolt. Nothing that could ever wake anyone, let alone Lenore. It was hard to believe that she was an assassin, the way she slept so deeply. One would have thought they were easily woken by the smallest noises and always on edge.

To distract himself from the dream, he got out of bed, leaving Lenore sleeping. He crossed to the window, not really expecting to see anything thanks to the mist. He was mistaken, however. The mist had dissipated and a faint, horribly-familiar orange light glowed outside the window. Having shaken off the last vestiges of sleep, Martin gasped and stared out of the window.

Below, in a pocket of land down the mountain where Cloud Ruler Temple stood, was very distinctly an Oblivion gate, belching out smoke and shadowy shapes of daedra. Behind him came a loud curse and a good deal of scuffling. Looking around, he saw Lenore was up and had obviously seen what was going on. She had tossed off the nightgown and was pulling her armour on.

About five seconds later, the shout rang through Cloud Ruler Temple, relayed from Blade to Blade, "_Oblivion gate! Defensive positions! Protect the heir!_"

By the time Jauffre had got himself together and had barged into Martin's room, Lenore had finished clasping her cuirass and was pulling on her now rather tattered robe. And, before the Grandmaster could get a word out, she had seized her claymores and, without a single word or second's hesistation, threw open the window. She had vanished out of it before Jauffre could even realise what was happening.

Panicking despite himself, Martin stuck his head out and stared after the falling black shape. It looked like certain death but, as she neared the deep slope, she drove her ebony claymore into the rock. With a loud grating that made his ears ache, the big sword carved a long gash down the mountain, taking most of the force she had gathered on the way down and enabling her to land without injuring herself.

By the time she reached the bottom, she had become a black blur, trailing sprays of snow that she kicked up while running, and she was in the Gate before he knew it. All the while, Martin couldn't do anything but stare as Jauffre let out a long low whistle, "My, my, she really does this job well. I heard her shout, it woke me up. Did she really get changed that fast?"

Martin didn't answer. Instead, he wondered aloud the question that came to the front of his mind, "What would make her so desperate to get out there?" His question was suddenly answered in the form of something burning a little way off from the Gate. He gave a jolt when he realised it was a small farmhouse he had never noticed before. Voicing this to Jauffre, the Grandmaster gave a gasp,

"Oh, no! It's Applewatch! I'll send a party of Blades to their aid right away!"

Martin pulled on his usual robe and moved to the Great Hall, where the Blades were hurrying all over the place into position. He managed to get from Jena that Applewatch was home to the Draconis family, a mother and four grown children. Just as he was told this, Caroline escorted five people into Cloud Ruler. It was a group of three Imperials, an Altmer and a Khajiit. He guessed that the white-haired woman was Perennia Draconis and that the Altmer and Khajiit were mages.

The five people that sheltered in Cloud Ruler were all very shaken and Martin tried his best to comfort them as best he could. As he did, he started getting deja vu and found himself saying exactly what he had said at Kvatch. Maybe that was why Jauffre had charged him with the task of comforting them. He'd had the sense not to outright say that he was the heir to the throne. He simply said he was a priest who worked at Cloud Ruler Temple on behalf of the Nine. That went down well with both them and Jauffre, who gave him an appraising look at his lie.

Hours went by and everyone had gone quiet. He had got their names: Perennia, the white-haired matron of the Draconis family; Caelia, her oldest daughter and Captain of the Leyawiin guard, who looked remarkably like her mother; Matthias, her oldest son, who was a guard for a rich Altmer in the Imperial City and stayed in a sulky silence; J'skar, no relation and part of the Bruma Mages' Guild, with a striped tail that he kept curled on his lap when sitting down and Volanaro, also of the Mages' Guild, who was the best dressed out of all of them and with hair the same colour as his tan that always got in the way of his face.

He also found out why the mages had been in Applewatch. It was because they would be part of the annual mourning ritual for Lavinia Harla. Martin was beginning to feel as though he had heard the name a hundred times during his time in Cloud Ruler Temple. Her name haunted the place, like a shout reverberating around the mountains.

Baurus was right; it was clear everyone still mourned her. Volanaro, especially. When Lavinia's name was mentioned by the mother of the Draconis family, he became silent and distant, doing nothing but staring into the fire with blank eyes. He got it from Caelia, the female Draconis sibling, that he had been dating Lavinia before she had died. Martin was torn. He didn't know whether to tell them outright what Baurus had showed him when he didn't have any proof or keep it quiet and let Lavinia tell them herself.

The doors opened and Lenore entered, with the distinct air of having run a long way. The moment she came in, Martin realised something was wrong. She was always more comfortable with her hood but, this time, she seemed completely desperate to keep it in place. Her finger and thumb were held tightly on the material as though against a wind and her knuckles were paling with the strain.

Caelia sprang up and hastened to bow before her, "The Hero of Kvatch! This is truly an honour!"

"Do not waste formalities on me, Caelia." Even Lenore's voice sounded off, stiff and strained. She wasn't even looking at any of them anymore but staring intently at the pillar next to her. Volanaro stood too, making Lenore flinch as though he had thrown something at her. This just made him grin all the wider,

"Modest and shy, I see! Say, why don't you take that hood off? I bet you've got a really pretty face under there." No sooner had he reached out a hand did she back away, as though he was brandishing a white-hot poker,

"I'd rather not, thank you." She snapped, curtly,

"Oh, come on!" J'skar groaned, loosening his collar, "You must be boiling in here. I know I am. Look at that sweat! My fur'll stink for days!"

"It is bearable." She answered, though even Martin thought it was rather hot and found himself loosening his collar too, "Now, are any of injured in any way?"

There was a general murmuring of 'no' among them but Lenore did not relax as she flicked her head back and forth over them, "Where are Sibylla and Andreas?"

"Oh, still travelling, I should think." Perennia spoke up, "What a blessing it is that they're arriving tomorrow!"

"They no longer live at Applewatch?" A nod made her shoulders sag a little with relief but she did not relax. In fact, her voice became formal and even more detached, "The damage to Applewatch is apparent but nothing is beyond repair. I shall pay any funds you need to do so."

"Oh, there's no need to trouble yourself, my dear!" Perennia smiled warmly at the prospect though and Martin guessed she wasn't the wealthiest of women. Baurus, who had come in with Lenore, leaned in towards Martin and muttered,

"She looks rather nervous, doesn't she? Like she doesn't want to be seen."

"More so than usual, you mean." Jauffre chipped in.

In the meantime, Volanaro had invited Lenore to sit with them, "You're, ah, Lenore, aren't you?" A tight nod. She still would not look at any of them, "Of course, we've heard all about you. How could we not? Your reputation preceeds you."

"How long did it take you to get those muscles?" J'skar asked, excitedly, now rather fascinated by her. Something she did not look keen to indulge,

"Twenty years hard practise."

"That's amazing!" Caelia grinned, clearly liking Lenore more and more. An emotion that did not extend to her brother, who kept his sullen silence and glared at her with obvious suspicion,

"Are you part Nord?" Volanaro asked, eagerly, getting swept up into the admiration of her,

"No, Bi-Volanaro." Baurus glanced around warily at this, his ever-watchful eye on her throughout the whole discussion and Martin followed suit, his curiousity heightening again.

With every question, Lenore became more uneasy. Her answers were short and blunt, leaving no room for comment. With every passing minute, she pulled her hood a little way further down. She wouldn't be able to see anything in front of her at that rate.

While the other four got used to her stunted answers, Matthias remained narrow-eyed and suspicious, which probably made Lenore even more uncomfortable. His mother, about ten minutes later, gave Lenore another wide smile and said, wistfully, "Lavinia would have loved to have met you."

At this, the mood of the group abruptly changed again. Volanaro's head dropped and he lost all warmth, becoming an unresponsive zombie once more. J'skar's whiskers drooped, Matthias looked away and Caelia's mouth downturned. Baurus was suddenly paying a lot more attention to her and so did Martin, _Let's see how she reacts to their grief._ Lenore herself was glancing back and forth, taking in their collective reaction before fixing her eyes further away from them and saying, in a doubly tense voice,

"Who was this Lavinia?"

"She lived in Bruma twenty-three years ago." Caelia explained, her voice threatening to break, "She grew up there. We all knew her."

"She was a wonderful girl. We all thought so." J'skar spoke, seemingly for Volanaro, who seemed to have forgotten Lenore was there,

"You liked this girl?" Lenore's voice was now extremely constricted, as though a hand was squeezing her throat, getting tighter and tighter, "What's the matter with him?" She asked, after a glare at Volanaro,

"He dated her before it happened." J'skar dropped his voice, as though he thought the Altmer sitting right next to him couldn't hear, "He loved her. I don't think he's ever got over her death. Not that any of us have, mind."

"She died?"

"Yes." Perennia nodded, solemnly, as her daughter wiped her face on her gauntlett, "She wanted to be a warrior. She practised with swords all the time even when she wasn't allowed to. She would have loved to have met you. You're everything she wanted to be."  
"I doubt that." Lenore's voice suddenly became dark and she looked even further away, "I don't think she would want to be anything like me."

"Now, wait just a minute." Matthias' voice made everyone jump as did him standing up. Lenore leapt up too, her foot edging towards the door. Seeing this, Baurus moved in front of the front door with the distinct air of blocking the way. Jauffre, too, barred the way to the West Wing, "I smell something fishy with you."

"Matthias!" Perennia scolded, rising to her feet too, "This is the Hero of Kvatch you're talking to! You've no reason to be rude!"

"I'm just saying there are a couple of things that aren't right here." He strode around the table, advancing upon her, "You knew the name of Applewatch before anyone told you. You knew I had another brother and another sister. You know their names. You know _our _names. And, you nearly called Volanaro 'Big-Ears', didn't you?"

With every accusation, Lenore stiffened and flinched, staring down and moving slowly back as though facing a bear. J'skar suddenly stood too and took Matthias' side, "Hey, he's got a point. How do you know us?"

"I don't." Lenore snapped, her voice fumbling and clearly trying to think something up on the spot, "Baurus informed me of you on our way back from the Gate."

"No, I didn't." Baurus shook his head, almost immediately, making her glare at him as though he had betrayed a great secret. All the while, Matthias was advancing with J'skar,

"So," Matthias went on, "you're trying to cover it up now, are you? Just like you're covering your face."

"Leave her alone!" Volanaro suddenly spoke up, snapping out of his miserable torpor, "She's perfectly entitled to cover her face if she wants to." Lenore gave a thankful glance at Volanaro as he went on, "She's the Hero of Kvatch and she's saved our lives, for Akatosh's sake! Be a bit more respectful to her!"

"He's right." Caelia had recovered from her tears and had stood up too, "You've no right to make her this uncomfortable!"

At that point, when it looked like a fight might start, there was a knock on the door. Three Bruma guards appeared, led by a young Imperial about Martin's age with scrubby blond hair, "Perennia Draconis," He said, standing straight and rigid, "your son and daughter are at the Jerall View Inn waiting for you along with the Captain. I hope you are all unhurt."

"Oh, thank you, Soren. No, don't worry, We're fine. Come on, then, everyone." All animosity gone, they all walked out, Soren leading the way. All the way out, Matthias would not stop glaring at Lenore. So, when the doors closed, she sank into a chair as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There was about five seconds silence before Jauffre turned to her with a quizzical look on his face,

"What was _that_?"

"What was what?" Martin was glad she was talking normally again,

"Why were you so nervous around them?" Jauffre put his head to one side, "And, when you were so eager to save them."

Lenore stiffened and looked away, "I am eager to save anyone. I treated them no differently than I do anyone else. Now, if you will excuse me, this is no time to be sitting around, wasting time with gossip. Martin, have you made any progress with the Xarxes?"

Martin jumped at the stare he found himself under. He felt an old, almost-forgotten flush creep up his neck and his throat close up, making him unable to say or even think up something. Thankfully, Baurus chipped in at that point,

"I think you can spare a bit of time. You certainly could yesterday with Martin."

"Yesterday was yesterday." She simply said, glaring at him. Baurus could cope with the power of her eyes better than he, though, since he fearlessly advanced on her like Matthias had,

"You see, I'm good friends with Burd and I'm rather familiar with the story of Lavinia Harla." He went on, just as fearlessly. Jauffre, though he probably didn't know what was going on, approached so the two Blades looked like they were closing in on her. Martin didn't quite know what to do. He didn't want to make her feel threatened (which is what she was undoubtably feeling) but he wanted so much to know if Baurus' theory was true. Lenore frowned,

"What does that old tale have to do with me?"

"Well, you see," Baurus actually put his hands on the table behind her so he was trapping her, "there are a few things that don't make sense to me."

"If it has been twenty-three years," She argued back, "some details are bound to be inaccurate."

"Ah, no, I heard it a few weeks after it happened. I met Burd when he tried to throw himself off the mountain."

He said it in such an offhand way but this made Lenore start badly and actually cry out in shock before composing herself, "The fool of a Nord. I know of him and he is nothing but a drunken idiot. Who else would mourn so long for someone who only continued to try his patience and was not even his real daughter? In any case, out with it! What makes you so unsure of the happenings? And, what makes you think this whole ridiculous story has any connection with me?"

"Well, you see." Baurus' voice was steady and unflinching, something Martin knew he could never do under a stare like that, "it was said that the fire destroyed Lavinia's body and left nothing of her to bury other than two broken daggers that belonged to her. But, I'm sure you know that Dunmer bodies can't cremate because of their resistance to fire. And, another thing," He cut across her, as she was about to make an excuse, "Burd showed me a picture of her. She's got orange hair and purple skin."

Glancing up, Martin saw comprehension dawn upon Jauffre's face as the pieces began to slide into place. Staring at Lenore, he put in, "What age are you?"

"Thirty-seven, right?" Baurus answered for her. Lenore kept a stubborn silence and her head down, "How old would you have been twenty-three years ago? Fourteen? The same age as Lavinia, anyway."

"You think," Her voice was low and menacing, "that you have this whole theory of yours affirmed, don't you? That theory is based on nothing but paltry suspicions and unconfirmed ideas!" Then, she raised her head and her voice lost its malice, "Those suspicions and ideas are, of course, absolutely true. I am Lavinia Harla, though you would think I were not, since no one calls me by that name anymore."

She let back her hood and let her bright hair fall down her back. The final confirmation of what she was saying. Jauffre smacked himself in the forehead in shock, "By the Nine, so you are! Why didn't I recognise you before?" Baurus released her with a satisified smile on his face. Lavinia, however, looked miserable and her head was drooped, as though she had confessed some terrible crime, "But, how are you alive? What really happened that night?"

"Most of the story being heard is true. Raeniel and Saeniel were assassins after my blood. Saeniel did make an attempt to kidnap me and Raeniel would have murdered me had his plan gone smoothly. But, what no one knows is that I knew of their plan before it occurred. I overheard them talking about it on my way back home from school. Since I was under house arrest and no one I trusted had been allowed near me, I took matters into my own hands.

"I swapped the potion-soaked handkerchief with an ordinary one so I only pretended to fall unconscious when Saeniel captured me. Once close to Raeniel's house, I used it upon Saeniel to knock him out, took the daggers he had stolen from me and would have escaped unhindered had Raeniel not arrived. I managed to hide myself before he saw me and would have crept past him had he not gloated how he had murdered my family.

"A moment's rage and the crime was done. I struck Raeniel from behind with my two daggers in his neck and he was dead in an instant. Instantly fearing what I had done, I dragged his body into the cabin and set the place on fire in an effort to hide it. Thinking it would not work and I would be named a fugitive, I stole Raeniel's horse and rode away."

"I see, I see!" Jauffre nodded, "That does make sense! But, how did the daggers get broken?"

"I tried to pull them out but they managed to get stuck. I broke them trying."

"Well, then," Jauffre started to stride towards the door, "I'd better go and call back the Draconis family. This will be a wonderful surprise for them."

"No!" cried Lavinia, in such an authoritative voice that Jauffre froze, "I do not want to reveal myself. This is a reason I stayed away from Bruma for this long. You may adore me as a hero now but, before, you would have feared me." Martin was the only one in the room who knew exactly what she was talking about but Jauffre stopped, nevertheless,

"Well, don't tell us what you've done, then." Martin cut in, just as the Grandmaster opened his mouth to ask,

"This can't go on." Baurus shook his head and Jauffre imitated him,

"It would be doing them a great cruelty to continue deceiving them like this."

"It is a great kindness to continue to deceive them." Lavinia retorted,

"Why?" Baurus put his head to one side, "Do you think they'll get hurt if they get too close to you?"

Lavinia shook her head and said in a steady voice, "Nothing so cliched. Anyone who could hurt them knows perfectly well that they could pay with their lives for it and I would not be satisfied." Again, she said this terrifying thing with such a calm, nonchalant voice, "Simply because it is kinder to let them think I am dead than for them to know what I have done over the years."

"They don't have to." Martin put in, converted to Baurus and Jauffre's way of thinking, "You don't have to tell them."  
"Do you really think they will allow me to keep it from them?" She glared at him, making him wish he hadn't spoken,

"They're going to keep mourning you, Lavinia." Baurus' voice became even more serious, "They're never going to stop. Never. However bad the things you've done are, staying away can't be said to be kind."

"Why do they mourn so much?" Lavinia frowned, in a confused sort of way, "It is illogical to continue for so long. Mourning does nothing but hinder yourself and everyone around you. It is a selfish and pointless thing to do."

"Why do you think that?" It was Jauffre's turn to put his head to one side, puzzled, "What's Burd doing wrong?"

"Simple." Lavinia answered at once, folding her arms, "He is the Captain of the Guard and yet feels the need to drown himself in ale and waste his men's time dragging him back to his house. He has never touched a drop until now so his mourning is to blame. Why would he think that anyone would want to see him become like that? Why does he think making himself like that will achieve anything? Why does he think that it is what I want him to be?" Her knuckles paled as her fingers clasped on her arm and emotion was starting to creep into her voice.

Something clicked into Martin's brain and he realised what she was saying. By the look of her, any other questioning would make her break down and that was something she would never forgive any of them for witnessing, "Baurus, Jauffre," He called, trying to put as much authority as she could into his voice, "she does not want to go to Bruma right now so do not press her. And," He added on an inspiration, "it was the middle of the night when she went out to close that hell-Gate. She needs to go to bed."

The way Lavinia looked at him, it was as though he had turned into a Divine. Baurus and Jauffre didn't dare disobey their soon-to-be Emperor so they left the room and let Martin take Lavinia to their room, "Thank you." She sighed, after the door was firmly shut. Martin got changed back into his nightshirt while Lavinia shut herself in the bathroom, with the mumbled excuse of taking a bath.

She did not come out for fifteen minutes. As the minutes wore on, Martin's concern increased. Thinking she might have escaped, he decided to go and look. The window was closed and intact, yet the room was empty. Her armour was discarded on the floor, along with her claymores. A moment's confusion and the silence of the room was broken by Lavinia's voice,

"I will be out in a moment, Martin. Sorry for taking so long."

Her voice came from behind the curtain that was drawn completely over the bath so he could not see her. He made to pull it back, thinking she would not mind but, like the lash of a whip, she snapped, "I will be finished soon. There is no need for that."

"Are you alright, Vini?" Martin asked, puzzled at this. Though, not entirely puzzled, since now he knew what 'Vini' meant now. She normally didn't mind him pulling back the curtain, so long as she knew he was there beforehand,

"There is nothing wrong." She said it in a tone that said exactly the opposite. Swallowing his fear, he pulled back the curtain. There was not a drop of water in the white tub. Only Lavinia, wearing only her black robe, sitting with her legs drawn into her chest and her face buried in her knees,

"Vini!" He gasped, making her even-more-bloodshot eyes emerge from under her dishevelled hair,

"Leave me." Her voice was venomous and her glare even more so. It took all of Martin's courage to stay where he was, "I said, leave me be."

"Why are you hiding?" Martin met her glare head-on with new courage he never knew he had, "What are you scared of? That I'll lose faith in you for crying?"

"Do not be so ridiculous." She snapped back, ignoring his offered hand, "I am not afraid of you. You are the least frightening person I have ever met."

Not knowing whether to be complimented or insulted by this, Martin took hold of her overly-thick arms, "Come on. Up you get." Despite the muscles, she was surprisingly easy to lift. And surprisingly cooperative. Her words did not match her actions, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder like a distressed child.

Laying her into bed, he got in beside her, allowing her to lay her head upon his lap. Now, this was something he had never imagined doing. Never did he imagine such emotion from her, or the desire in him to comfort her at the sight of it, "F-forgive me." She managed out, after a moment, "I do not know what brought this on."

"It's okay." He immersed his hand into her mass of hair, knowing his fingers would undoubtably become tangled into it, "It's only natural."

"I despise it. Ever since I was small, the one thing I hated was people seeing me weep. I would hide under my bed until I had no more tears to shed and feel such shame when Burd found me and comforted me, though I ought to have been grateful for his concern over me." Her hand clenched on the bedsheet, "I was so selfish then. Even now, when I do so much for other people, I never fail to slip into bad habits."

He let her go on, sympathy more than curiousity driving him, "I am in no place to fault Burd. He is the finer person than I. He did everything that he could have done for me and more. It is I that is illogical, not being grateful for all the kindness he has given to me. I am not even his real daughter or any blood relation, yet he took me into his house and treated me as though I was. How could I ever show my face in Bruma again after all I have put him through? I left him to fall into this depression and ran as fast from him as I could to save my own skin."

She lapsed into miserable silence and Martin knew better than to break it. The sun was rising behind the closed curtains, casting red light onto her hair and making it brighter than ever,

"I have not paid a proper visit to Bruma in years but that place is vital to my existance. It is like the sun to me: I need it to live but I cannot approach or I shall die."

"Do you mean Burd finding out you're in the Brotherhood?" Martin murmured, voicing the theories that he'd been working out in his head. He took her silence as a yes, "I think I've worked it out. Why you're scared to go back. Not only are you frightened of them finding out, but you're scared of them turning against you for it."

More silence. Martin let this quiet lengthen; he wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep but hours went by undisturbed. Even the faint sound of the Blades going about their business was muted, somehow. As though the whole of Cloud Ruler Temple had decided to fall silent for their benefit. The sort of hours that Martin did not want to leave. The sort he had never dreamed of spending before but desired more than anything now. Just being in bed with her and knowing she felt comfortable with him was the greatest comfort in the world.

The day wore on but Martin did not want it to end. At last, Lavinia stirred and lifted her head. Her face was blotchy, her hair was all over the place and her eyes were still red but she was calm. Her movements were steady and there was no evidence of pushing down any tears,

"Are you ready?" Martin asked, in a low voice,

"Yes."

* * *

A/N: Ah, the joys of cliffhangers! Was that last bit okay? I'm not good at romance scenes, I'm afraid.


	30. Chapter 29: Closure

A/N: Finally! My laptop broke, the uni work's been building, I've been really busy but, still, I managed to get this chapter out! I was going to split it but I thought, 'This is the big one. I should do it all in one go!' For, indeed it is! The most important and longest chapter I have done so far. So, strap yourselves in. This is going to be one hell of a roller-coaster!

**Miss Lieress:** No one can hide their face forever, it's true.

**maskedpainter:** Martin's coming back in following chapters, don't worry!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Glad you found it so plausible.

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 29: Closure**

_Ulene_

_Oh, damn this cold to Mephala! _Even the thickest fur cloak she could afford could not block out the cold. As she attempted to walk behind the Count without slipping on the frozen snow, she could not imagine how anyone could think of living in Bruma, _They must be really poor and desperate if they took a home here!_

She spotted who she thought must be the Captain of the Guard standing at the gate, Burd. On the surface, he looked rather calm and steady though she remembered that he must have just come from the annual visiting of Lavinia's grave.

She was heartily sick of hearing about that long-dead girl. She had been dead twenty-three years, for crying out loud! How could everyone still be upset about it after that long? Even under those circumstances, Ulene thought it a bit silly.

Still, Burd was polite to the Count and led them inside the castle, _Hmm,_ she thought, _nice guy for a Nord. At least, he's not falling apart all over the place. _When they entered (which Ulene was very glad to do since it was nice and warm inside), everyone stopped what they doing and the maids curtsied before the Count. However, she very distinctly heard someone mutter, "Ashborn."

She whipped round just as she felt something rush past her. A Breton, which Ulene presumed to be the castle healer by the way he was dressed, was pinned to the wall with Burd's claymore at his throat, "Say that word again and it'll be more than your job you risk." He didn't raise his voice but, instead, used a coldly calm tone that sent a strangely familiar shiver up her spine.

The Breton did not dare to defy him and scurried away as fast as his legs would carry him. Burd took a deep breath, sheathed his sword and turned back to them, "I'm terribly sorry, Count Indarys. If you hadn't been here, I'd have flogged him here and now for saying that word."

"Quite alright, quite alright." The Count muttered, distractedly. Ulene began to doubt if he had even heard the slur. Ever since Farwil vanished, he seemed to be much unfocused all the time, unable to concentrate on any of his duties except when he devoted himself to finding him. Which was partly why they were here; to reinforce the desperate need to track him down.

As the Count and the Countess retreated to a private place to 'discuss matters', Ulene sought out Yvara Channitte, whom she had met a few times in Cheydinhal while Yvara was visiting family. They too retreated to private quarters to chat,

"I'm surprised Burd _didn't _flog Gan on the spot!" The Breton declared, after Ulene had told her what happened, "Oh, Gan is so stupid! To say that word today in front of Burd is suicide!"

"Is it because of this Lavinia?"

"Yes, of course. Even though that girl is dead and gone, it feels like she'll never leave us. She'll never leave Burd, anyway. I should know. I was interested in him for a while, I admit, but he wouldn't have any of it."  
"It doesn't seem like it's possible to forget her." Ulene added, "Not round here, anyway."  
"You're right." Yvara nodded, sadly, "I only met her a few times but even I can't forget her. She's haunting this place. You hear about her once and she's in your mind forever."

Being very fed up of this conversation, Ulene decided to steer it away, "The Count's really not been himself recently. What with Farwil disappearing like that in the night. He might become our own Lavinia at this rate."

"Yes, I heard all about that from the Black Horse Courier. The Hero of Kvatch is very concerned about it, apparently. She came here a few days after the news got around and told us to be on the watch, even ordering a few spare soldiers to be sent around the mountains for a search."  
"Well, of course," Ulene's spirits couldn't help but lift at the mention of Lenore putting her efforts into finding Farwil as well. She was sure if anyone could find him, she could, "Lenore would naturally be worried about him. She and Farwil are very good friends."  
"So, the rumours are true then. About her being his swordsmanship trainer before she was the Hero of Kvatch?"

"Absolutely. Bremman was rather wary of her at first, most of us were, but we know now we were just overreacting. Oh, yes!" She delved into her pocket for the familiar scrap of parchment, "Have a look at this! Lenore is a wonderful artist and she did this brilliant portrait of herself when I got her ready for the banquet."

She pulled out the sketch with pride as though she had been the one who drew it and presented it to Yvara. She took one look at it and dropped it as though it was a poisonous snake, backing away to the wall.

Astonished, Ulene stood up too, "What's the matter?"

Though as pale as a Breton should be, Yvara was now white as the snow outside and shaking with apparent fright. Then, she was alive with motion, diving into a chest and throwing out a framed portrait, about the same size as the sketch,

"_What?_" Ulene was starting to get annoyed by her friend's unexplained actions. It was only a sketch, for Azura's sake!

"Look!" She thrust the painting into Ulene's hands, almost making her drop it with the haste. Frowning, she looked down and gave a small gasp,

"Why, this is Lenore!" A younger, happier Lenore but unmistakably her,

"The Countess asked her to do this a few months before it happened. It's one of the only self-portraits she's ever done."  
"Wait, the Countess knew Lenore?"

"She knew _Lavinia_! Look at the signature!" After a bit of squinting, Ulene finally picked out. A spiky pair of initials, _LH, _were etched there_._ A check on Lenore's sketch showed identical letters in the same place.

_Baurus_

Baurus couldn't help but feel rather pleased with himself that his theories (even though he knew they were right) had been proved and affirmed. Martin had not let Lavinia out until late afternoon and, although there were some traces of tears on her face, she was calm and ready as ever.

"You have not told anyone else of my identity, have you?" were the first words out of her mouth, directed at Jauffre,

"No, I thought you were capable of doing that."  
"Good." She pulled up her hood. An action that would have been completely unnecessary had it not been bitterly cold outside, "I do not want a whole welcome party to greet nor do I want to make a scene."

"I don't think you can avoid that." Baurus pointed out, "I don't think Bruma'll celebrate more when they find out you're alive if the Oblivion crisis ended here and now."

This earned him a hard stare from Lavinia, "If Martin were not present, I would have fed you to Shadowmere."

They were suddenly interrupted by cries from the Blades at the gate and soldiers running helter-skelter into defence positions. It was only after a few seconds that the source of their hurry became coherent,

"_Oblivion Gate outside Bruma! Defence positions, on the double!_"

Their shouts became mingled with another. An oath so profane coming from Lavinia that Jauffre glared at her and she was away like a scamp out of Oblivion, managing to squeeze through the gap between the gates before they closed and out of sight. Baurus was left to chivvy a shocked Martin back inside and follow Jauffre after her.

_Soren_

It was all he could do to stay absolutely silent and still. He didn't know how many stray daedra might be wandering around, ready to strike if he moved or betrayed any sign that he was still alive, _Damn it! How could we have failed so badly? Even the Knights of the Thorn did better than this! At least none of them were captured! Twenty years of training and we can't do a thing! If only we'd waited for the Hero of Kvatch..._

There was a whooshing sound that made Soren's heart sink, _No! _He willed the inevitable reinforcements that had just come to leave, _Go back! It's pointless! Bruma is finished! _The cries of daedra sounded from all around and Soren wished he could cover his ears to block out the screams he knew would come.

But the only screams were from the daedra and loud thumps as bodies fell to the ground. Daring to look up, Soren gasped in amazement. A figure wearing what looked like a black cloak over Kvatch armour stood before the gate, claymores in hand; the Hero of Kvatch had arrived.

Hardly daring to believe his sudden fortune to be standing before her and having been just rescued by her, Soren pulled himself up, clutching the wound on his shoulder that no longer seemed as deep as he'd first thought. But, she did not pay any notice. Her eyes flicked around the scene, taking in discarded shields and, most of all, the captain's sword,

"_Burd!_" She screamed to the wasteland behind him at the top of her voice, "_BURD!_"

"He got...taken." Soren gasped out, managing to get to his feet and reaching for the healing potion stores that had miraculously survived the battle. As the first gulp of it went down his throat, his legs stopped shaking and he could talk more steadily, "We were completely mobbed by those things and they dragged him and Bor off to the tower. I just played dead here." His cowardice suddenly thrust itself into his mind and he felt himself go red. Not that she would have noticed in the red light of Oblivion and, even she did, she didn't mention it.

Instead, she hurried to his side and demanded, "Where?"

"The big tower, over there, I think." He pointed vaguely to a black spire growing out of the stony ground, "That's where I saw them being taken-hey!"

She was gone before he knew it, rocketing in the direction of it, becoming nothing but a dark blur. Soren was left to pick up the captain's sword and weakly attempt to follow.

_Jauffre_

He had the strangest sense of déjà vu as he chased Lavinia down the mountain with her racing ahead faster than a Khajiit sprinter, sending up sprays of snow at her heels like a dust trail. He was beginning to wish he'd had the sense to wear something other than armour that clanking unbearably and slowed him down terribly. He knew Baurus wasn't coping any better.

Both of them were very glad, therefore, when she skidded to a halt before the hell-gate to talk to one of the guards that were standing outside, ready to get rid of any daedra that came out. They did not hear what the guard said but they did hear Lavinia snarl, "Oh, if he gets out alive, I'll kill him!"

With another shot of snow, she dived into the gate and out of sight. Jauffre and Baurus both nearly slipped as they halted, gasping for breath. Baurus recovered himself first and asked what was going on,

"The captain's gone with a few men into the Gate." The guard looked completely distraught, "I told him not to. It's suicide to go in there without knowing what to do!"

He was right. It was a very bad decision to go in with only a few men. Unless you were Lavinia. Wishing that she would get there in time, he motioned to Baurus that they should wait for her.

Then, the air was filled with noise. Not the cry of daedra or anything near human. A shrieking, throbbing call like the sort the Ayleids would make. And one that sounded terribly like a war-cry. Then, seemingly just popping out of the trees around them, horsemen charged at Bruma like the Imperial Legion cavalry, led by a Bosmer who he remembered only from a wanted poster long ago.

Baurus recognised him too, as did the guards. Everyone knew that face. Swords were drawn and positions were taken but, by the time they were ready, the small army had engulfed them. Jauffre couldn't even move his sword properly, so thick and fast was the horde. They had ridden right into Bruma before he could do a thing to stop them and he was left to rally the few soldiers there after them.

Again, he was too late. The horsemen had dispersed itself all around the place, leaving their steeds and brandishing their weapons at the townsfolk. Only brandishing, thankfully. A quick look around showed that no one was dead. Yet.

He opened his mouth to demand what was going when a scream from the castle made his heart sink. The Countess was being dragged from the place, a dagger held at her throat by none other than Saeniel.

The Wood Elf was older and looked much more demented than his sketch. His hair was matted, his face dirty and weather-beaten, his clothes looking more like animal skins sewn roughly together, but he was still recognisable,

"You can stop thinking about doing anything about this!" His voice was a high shriek, sounding so inhuman that it could have been mistaken for the shriek of a vulture, "If you do anything, I'll put this dagger through your precious Countess' neck!" He let out a frenzied howl of laughter, just as another wild-looking Dunmer dragged out Count Indarys, who was thrashing about desperately in his captor's grip.

Most of the gang were Dunmers, Jauffre now realised. All dressed like they were feral and all looking as mad as their leader. Saeniel's laughter ceased and he continued,

"They like this one more than the last one, don't they? I wonder how they'll _squirm _when I make her wriggle in agony like a fisher's bait!"

"Why are you doing this?" cried Count Indarys, not stopping his attempt to break free, "What has possessed you all to take us hostage like this?"

"They talk too much." Saeniel explained in a chillingly offhand tone, "Talk, talk, talk, all over the place. All about Harla. Always about Harla. But, me and my men are going to kill everyone just as soon as we get everyone together so I won't have to listen to it anymore!" He finished with another manic burst of laughter.

Jauffre had gone colder than the air outside his armour, _If only the Gate hadn't opened! Lavinia would have made short work of him and got her revenge in one!_

"Master!" called one of the men, who was shepherding the priests from the chapel, "We've got someone who doesn't want to cooperate!"

"Kill him then and throw out his body! No, sacrifice him on the alter to the Nine!"

The priests cringed and wailed at the thought of their beloved chapel desecrated but nothing anyone could do would prevent the Dunmer boy from scrambling back up the steps and back inside. The silence made way for the sickening crack of bone breaking. The door opened once more and a body was flung out. The body of the Dunmer that had gone in, with his head turned at an unnatural angle.

A ripple went through the town of mixed shock and fear from both attacker and victim. Saeniel had lost his mania and was staring at the chapel door, where a shadow was stepping out.

There was a scoff of disgust as an ebony-clad shrouded in a wolf-fur cloak and wearing a skull as a mask over his face stepped out. Clasping in one thick arm was a double-headed ebony battle-axe the like of which Jauffre had never seen before and looked almost impossible to lift. Yet, he could do it with ease. Count Indarys gasped in recognition as a growling voice came from within the skull,

"Pathetic. You were all mer of honour. To have fallen so far like this!"

Saeniel's eyes widened and his madness returned. He gave another loud war-cry and every one of the soldiers descended on him. It looked like certain death and Baurus readied himself to lend a hand. But it was not needed.

The once-terrifying horde was being flung here and there by the enormous axe as limp bodies. Anyone would have run at the sight but the crowd was so crazed that they just charged at him to their deaths.

Saeniel, however, seemed to have enough sanity to realise what was going on and he was getting more and more panic-stricken. In a matter of minutes, his whole army was a decimated pile of corpses. The townsfolk stared from their doorways, not sure whether to be horrified or relieved.

Now, the man was advancing towards Saeniel, whose face was becoming more and more distorted with insanity, "_I'LL KILL HER IF YOU TAKE ANOTHER STEP!_" He shrieked, spit flying from his mouth. The man was no swayed in the slightest and continued to his steady walk towards them, "_DON'T YOU CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM?_"

"I don't give a damn what happens to them." The growling voice rasped out, "You are my target, n'wah. And, do not think I forgotten you, son of Hlaalu." He added, in the direction of Count Indarys' captor, who was mouthing wordlessly in terror.

Realising he had lost his advantage, Saeniel threw the Countess aside and made a dash for it. Jauffre suddenly realised that he needed to do something so he made a motion of Baurus and they closed in. The struggling Bosmer was caught between them with a squeal of defeat that was silenced by Baurus having the good sense to put a gag over his mouth.

Looking back, he saw the man approach Count Indarys' captor, who finally released his victim and fallen to his knees, begging for forgiveness. Jauffre had the strong impression that the man would not listen but was proven wrong when he stuck the axe into the snow and held out a small scroll, "If you want to live, give this to your father and stay with him. I don't want to see you dishonouring yourself like that again."

The boy grabbed a horse and hurried away, with Saeniel attempting to scream after him. All was quiet. The danger had lifted but no one was less afraid. After a long pause, the man gave a curt nod to Count Indarys, "'Afternoon, Cheydinhal." before approaching Saeniel, who shook worse than ever at the sight of him.

A hand shot out and everyone must have flinched but he did nothing but draw out the Bosmer's dagger, "Take that to the Hero of Kvatch." He thrust the weapon at a Bruma guard, who took it nervously and shuffled from the city.

_Burd_

Bor was about to snap. That was clear. The blood was running down his face and he was close to unconsciousness. The dremora were arguing amongst themselves who should have the next round of torture. The only time when there was a break.

The cuffs around his wrists dug into his skin and his vision turned into a cloud of red. He could barely keep his head up but his brain was clear enough to realise what was going on.

To try and take his mind off his inevitably torturous death, he closed his eyes. Since he was so close to death, would it not be logical that he was closer to Lavinia? He could imagine her fiery hair (so different from the fires of Oblivion) and welcoming smile,

_I'm sorry, Lavinia._ He imagined saying to her, _Imagine being captured by daedra and dying in a dungeon._ Her envisioned face dropped into a frown, _Yeah, it was a really stupid decision, wasn't it? I should have waited for the Hero of Kvatch. She would have known what to do. Ah, well. I never think straight around this time. Not that it matters,_

"Wake up!" He must be close to her now. He could almost hear her voice, "Don't you dare die now, Nord!"

Something cool trickled down his throat and Lavinia faded away. The dark chamber remained and the white face of Soren appeared above him, "Captain! Captain!"

As more details came into focus, he spotted Bor getting shakily to his feet and a dark hooded figure. Though he could not see her clearly, he could tell it was the famed Hero of Kvatch. And, that she was staring hard at him. He barely heard Soren explain how she had come. His head was still a bit sore.

When he finally managed to get to his feet, he spotted the bodies of the dremora that had imprisoned him sprawled on the floor and the Hero of Kvatch approached him, "Thank the Gods you're here. I didn't-"

SMACK!

He was forced sideways by the force of her hand, having been given no time to brace himself for it. His head flared with pain as he was forced against the wall,

"_You absolute imbecile!_" She screamed in his face, ignoring the gasps of shock from Bor and Soren, "_How dare you enter an Oblivion Gate as inexperienced and unprepared as you are? You should be thankful I deigned to save you at all!_"

"Hey, come on!" Soren protested, "There's no need for that!"

"_Silence!_" She snarled back, making him reel back from her glare, "_You are as bad as him!_" She then seemed to calm herself down and fell silent for a moment, before her voice became low and dangerous, "As tempting as it is to leave you to your incapable devices, the Gate must be closed. Soren, take Bor out of this place and get him to a healer at once. Burd shall be escorted by me."

"No, wait!" Burd put in, making her glare at him in a way that was so painfully like Lavinia would when she was angry with him, "We came in just to see how it was done and, since we've already got this far, it makes sense that at least one of us should accompany you. Just in case any more open in the future around Bruma."

"If you wanted to see how it was done," The Hero of Kvatch would not even look at him now, instead glaring at a decapitated dremora at her feet, "you should have waited for me. But, you are right. You got yourself into this mess and it would be very embarrassing for you if you came back unsuccessfully. Very well, you shall accompany me. Bor, Soren, move out."

After a glance at Burd to affirm this order, Soren led a limping Bor from the place, "You sure they'll be okay?"

"If they have more sense than you, they will be." Still, she would not look at him, "Come. And, do not hinder me." She strode off towards a door leaving Burd to pick up his sword that he suddenly realised was lying on the floor (he was sure he had dropped it during the battle) and staggeringly attempt to follow.

He wasn't really given much of a chance to fight. The Hero of Kvatch would throw herself at any daedra and cut them down without him having to move a finger. It was amazing how she never seemed to need to strike twice and it all seemed so effortless. It was no wonder that she could close all the Gates she had now he had seen her in action.

This made him feel even more stupid for trying to do her job. Of course, they weren't at all ready or even close being ready for this. What a fool he'd been! He could almost imagine Lavinia standing outside the Gate waiting for him, ready to batter him for his idiocy. They climbed the tower, Burd biting his lip to prevent his tears.

Up and up, they went, through corridor after corridor of red stone and badly-moulded metal. Past the bodies of dremora that she so easily dealt with and the odd trap. Twice, she stopped him from walking below a guillotine-like blade that descended from the ceiling and would have split him in half from head to foot,

"I'm sorry." He said, after they entered a surprisingly empty chamber, "I'm not much use, am I?"

"I can handle this on my own. Whether you are of use or not does not change the fact that you are not needed."

They approached a crudely-made sort of bench and Burd gratefully sat down without thinking. His feet were starting to ache. She gave a scornful sort of 'tch' and moved around to stand behind him. After a long period of silence, Burd swallowed and said,

"I know it was a bad decision to just charge in without a plan. I always make bad decisions in Evening Star."

"Why is that?" Her tone was unrelenting as ever,

"Ah, my mind just wanders. I never seem to be able to concentrate." He grasped his sword hilt in an attempt to control himself,

"Is it because you cannot think of anything else but Lavinia?"

He closed his eyes expecting the usual sting of grief that came with the mention of her name. However, coming from her mouth, it didn't seem as bad for some reason. Now she had stopped shouting, her voice sounded almost comforting. Perhaps it was because she was the first Dunmer woman he had met since Lavinia died and their voices sounded very similar,

"Yeah, that's right." There was remarkably little tremor in his voice as he said it, "It's stupid, isn't it? Everyone tells me to just forget her and get on with my life. But, y'know, every time I do, it makes it worse."

"She would not want you to grieve." She pointed out, "She would have wanted you to move on, even if you cannot forget her."  
"I know." Burd nodded, "She'd be furious with me if she saw me now."  
"I do think she would be. She'd be tempted to slap you round the face and tell you to pull yourself together."

"That sounds like her." An actual chuckle came out of him at that point, something he thought impossible of him on this day. Maybe this was the Oblivion crisis getting to him in its own way. A small pause later and she asked the strangest question he remembered being asked,

"What would you say to her if you met her now? If she just appeared before you at this moment?"

Burd blinked in surprise, not really knowing how to answer that question, "Oh, ah..." After a moment's thought, he carefully said, "...I suppose...I'd say I was sorry..."

"For what?" She interrupted, "I do not think she would hold a grudge against you for arguing with her for long."

"Not just that. For being so pushy and forcing her to do ballet when she didn't want to. She wanted to learn how to use swords and I just ignored her. And," He added on an inspiration, "I'd tell her that she's the most brilliant girl in the world and that I love her more than if she was my own."

Then, deciding they'd stayed here long enough, he stood up, "I'm probably just boring you, aren't I? You don't want to hear my ramblings."

With that, she walked towards the door and, as she passed, he spotted something, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," She reached up to brush at her face, "the ash must have got in my eye while you were speaking. Come, we are almost there, I believe."

There were fewer daedra on the higher levels. Maybe they thought no one would get this far. If they had any sense of tactics at all. Burd somehow found he could think more clearly now and he could think about Lavinia without as much pain. Like the Hero of Kvatch was some kind of miracle healing charm. He made a mental note to befriend her. He had a good feeling that she would, if anyone could, ease the pain of his loss at last.

They came to the peak of the column of the fire and what must be the Sigil Stone spiralling inside. She stopped short of plucking it out, instead turning to him, "Since you have risked the most and put the most exertion into this, you have the right to take it."

"Oh, well, thanks." Burd smiled, weakly. He didn't really agree with her thinking but he carefully stuck his hand in the flames and pulled out the stone. There was a burst of flames all around him and he felt sure the tower was collapsing around him. Clasping the shrinking stone, he staggered back and spotted her, standing with her hands in her pockets, looking almost bored at the scene of destruction.

One big flash of light later and the bloody red light turned to the soft crimson of a Bruma sunset. Where the formidable Gate once stood was now pieces of stone and metal oddly jutting from the ground, hissing as the cold air around them hit it,

"Captain!" The soldiers on guard hurried to the pair of them. He just caught the sight of Bor being patched up by Selena, "You made it! We never thought to see you alive."

"It was no picnic, trust me." Burd felt like he was making the understatement of the year but he put it aside, "Everything alright here?"

"Ah, well," An uneasy look made his stomach clench. Seeing the look on his face, the guard quickly added, "nothing to do with the daedra! Bruma was invaded by something else."

"Who?" Burd asked, at once, reaching for his neglected claymore,

"No, it's all over now. They've been taken care of. Everyone's okay but," He delved into his pocket and held out a small silver dagger to the Hero of Kvatch, "the person who took care of them wanted me to give you this."

Puzzled, she took it and examined it carefully. Then, she saw something that made her sharply gasp and hiss a word that immediately made Burd as alert as a startled rabbit, "Saeniel!"

_Andel_

He was immensely grateful he had been released, of course, but he was still reeling from the shock that he had been captured by Eno Hlaalu's son. He knew that the boy had been long exiled from their family house but he never expected him to be alive and part of this Saeniel's wild army. It was indeed a disgrace to the family which Eno would never live down.

Once the boy had galloped out of Bruma, Andel had to flex his hands a little to get used to them not being held and turned his attention to the familiar figure of the skull-masked mer. He now nonchalantly sat on a snowy rock, his axe propped against his body and pulling out a pipe from inside his cloak.

In a few moments, the pipe was lit and a cloud of smoke drifted out from under the skull as he ignored everyone around him. He had the distinct air of a mer waiting for something.

Indeed, the whole place seemed to be just on hold, just waiting for another big event to occur. A few guards drifted silently in to pull away the bodies and try to identify them. All attempts to talk to the mer were fruitless as he either kept silent or drove them away with a growling, rude dismissal.

The afternoon wore on outside the city, though inside, it felt as though the world was standing still and Andel could not bring himself to go back into the castle. He wanted to see what was going to happen for himself. The more he stood there, the more anticipation grew within him. An hour into his wait, Ulene joined him, looking very glad to see him alive. He barely noticed her sitting next to him or attempting to talk to him.

As the sky flamed a bright orange, there was a crash he recalled well and a great jet of light reaching through the clouds, throwing up ash and small black shards of the Gate, before shrinking and dying. The Gate was closed. That meant Lenore had been victorious.

Sure enough, a few moments later, the city gates were flung open and she ran into the city. Though he stood, she did not notice him. Her eyes flicked to where a now quiet Saeniel was held between the Blades. Though her hood was up and he could not see her eyes, she had a very palpable aura of cold fury the like of which he had never seen in her. The same kind of aura that emanated from an Oblivion gate and made Saeniel very understandably quake.

Before she could reach for her swords or take a step, the skull-masked mer put away his pipe, took up his axe and stood between them. There were lengthy seconds when they glared at each other, before the mer spoke first, "So, at last, we meet, sera." It was the most polite thing he had yet heard from the mer. Lenore was clearly not impressed,

"Are you the one who attacked Count Indarys?"

"Ah, it wasn't an attack. He just overreacted when I asked him where you were."

This accusation made Andel flush but Lenore prevented him from protesting, "You must have been rather desperate to find me. What business do you have that requires me?"

A sound that might have been a laugh came from the skull and he made a careless gesture to Saeniel, now looking about ready to faint with fright, "For the moment, we share a common enemy. We have been wronged in the same way by this little fetcher and we both desire his death. However, only one of us can deal the killing blow. So, what think you to the idea that we battle for that pleasure?"

Her humourless chuckle followed, "So be it." Her swords were drawn and she took her marks, "This battle shall not be to the death. You have much to answer for before you die."

"Aye, so I do." He nodded, before letting her continue,

"What shall be the decider of our battle?"

After a moment's thought, the mer rasped, "If you remove my mask, you win. If I manage to pull off your hood before that, I win."

"You have raised the stakes somewhat." She answered, coolly, "However, I accept and am ready when you are."

The tension became so thick that it almost became hard to breathe as the pair readied themselves. Then, in one flurry of a second, they came together, axe meeting claymore with a resounding clang.

Andel's heart was in his mouth as he watched them momentarily separate then clash once more. It was even more electrifying than an Arena match. He had never seen anything like it.

She had the speed advantage, flitting around her opponent, looking for an opening and almost getting blows before they were blocked by the enormous axe. The skull-masked mer did not move much, only turned when he had to and blocked those daedra-crushing attacks with a mere flick of a wrist.

There was one heart-stopping moment when she actually tossed one of her claymores at him. He had heard of her doing it from Farwil but never thought she really could throw something so heavy one-handed. But, the ebony sword spun in the air before his eyes...and was batted away like a fly to strike into the ground so close to Andel that some of the tossed-up snow hit him hard on the leg, making him and Ulene jump.

When they clashed again, Lenore's free hand shot out, trying to grasp the skull but the axe was brought up in a way that would have cost her that hand had she not leapt away. She retrieved her other sword, with a hurried, "Sorry!" to Andel before throwing herself back into the fight.

Their battle had attracted quite an audience, he realised. A woman from the Mages' Guild was staying close to the door, like a lookout. She was talking to someone behind her, probably giving the mages within a running commentary. The same held with the Fighters' Guild and the Jerall View Inn. The guards were on hand, looking ready to step in if it got out of hand (which he was rather grateful for) and the Countess had sent her herald out, which had soon become distracted by the fight.

At last, they came to a deadlock. Lenore did not leap away when she realised she could not get past but pushed against him, throwing all her weight into her claymores. It was clear that the mer was pushing hard too, driving the other end of the axe into the ground as far as he could,

"Come on, Lenore!" hissed Ulene, an opinion shared by all watching, who were now even more rapt than before.

Suddenly, there was a splintering crack of breaking metal. Everyone focused on the locking weapons and spotted that her claymores were digging their way into the old ebony of the axe. The mer was not at all swayed, however. In fact, he let go of the axe and let it stand on its own. Seeing the opportunity, Lenore pulled at her claymores...only to find them stuck.

The tables turned in an instant. The thick, ebony-clad arm shot out, grasped a handful of black material and there was a great ripping sound as it came off.

Again, it felt as though the place was standing still. The commentaries had stopped and everyone had frozen. The only thing moving was Lenore's orange hair falling down her back like a fiery waterfall.

Everyone was staring in utter shock right at Lenore, mouths hanging open and eyes wide. Andel was shocked that she had lost but he was not that surprised. He wondered if the city had put so much hope in her that seeing her lose a battle was a serious blow.

The mer stood before her, victorious, for only a moment before he dropped the limp hood and gave her a punch in the forehead, "Don't look so disappointed. You forced me to damage this to win. And, you're paying for repairs later."

Andel might have been worried at him lashing out at her but the blow was only light. Almost affectionate, like Farwil would give to a good friend in jest. If anything about the mer could be described as affectionate,

"You had better go and reap your reward." Her voice was steady as her swords, betraying no disappointment.

A grunt of agreement from the mer and he pulled the axe from where it was stuck, starting his march towards the now hysterical Bosmer. As his executioner neared, he began blurting out nonsensical words like, "Harla? No! It can't be! You are dead! Father killed you, Harla!"

"Right names, wrong order." Lenore's reply made even less sense. As though she understood what he was saying. Andel could make no sense of it. Nor could he understand why, when the mer was finally in front of him, he growled,

"Hey, you talking to me or her?"

This made Saeniel, if possible, panic even more. As he wailed denials of what he saw, the axe raised and Andel looked away before the sickening sound of a skull being cleft in two.

Silence once more. The light was fading from the sky and Lenore's hair seemed to glow in the evening light. Perhaps that was why everyone continued to stare at her like that. It was a wonder that she was not growing uncomfortable,

"Our revenge is at last complete." The mer turned back to Lenore as the body of Saeniel was dragged hurriedly away, "Now, we must retreat to some private place to discuss our intertwined histories."

Lenore raised an eyebrow at this proposition that Andel could make no sense of and answered, "What place do you recommend?"

"The Nord captain's house should do."

"I am agreed. Follow me."

With that, she sheathed her swords, turned around and began to walk purposefully away. The crowd shifted and parted before her like servants before an empress, staring at her as though she was one. The mer followed behind, making everyone back off a little further, and so too did Captain Burd. But, he was staring at Lenore as though she was a Divine and he did not really seem to know where he was going.

Once they had vanished from sight, Andel turned to Ulene and said in a quiet voice, "Good heavens, what a day this is turning out to be!"

_Arquen_

"Have a look at this, Arquen." Sylvia pointed up at the black silk ballet dress on the wall,

"I can't see her ever wearing that!" She chuckled at the sight of it. The Listener, doing ballet? That was absurd! Looking through Burd's house produced the most amazing and strange pieces of information about the Listener. She didn't even know she could draw so well. The pictures laid out on the table were clearly the Listener but that was really the only think she recognised of her from this place.

Just as she was about to have a peek in the wardrobe, there was a great commotion outside. Peeping through the curtains, she spotted horsemen riding into town, "Raiders!" She gasped, "Get down!" They both hit the floor, hoping that they hadn't been seen. They heard a command for the riders to disperse around the town and stop anyone coming out or going into their houses.

Arquen hurriedly motioned unnecessarily to Sylvia to be quiet. She supposed these people were taking advantage of the Oblivion crisis to do some pillaging, _Low lives. Even the Dark Brotherhood does not do that in this current danger!_

Every second, she expected someone to kick down the door and order them to give up every valuable. But, nothing happened. She wondered if they were just going to raid the castle by taking the town hostage, _They'd better get a move if they are! _She had a meeting with the Speakers that night and she was never late.

More noises could be heard from outside. Someone speaking in words she couldn't pick out and then, a cry volley of noise that rang through the place. It was completely unrecognisable without looking and she didn't dare do that. After a while, it died down and, after a good few hours' wait, she felt the ground beneath her tremble like a slight earthquake but only for a moment. Arquen, having enough of lying on her stomach, crawled over to the window.

Outside were distressed horses and their riders were lying in a heap, all dead, _The guards must have done something about it. They're damn good if they dealt with that many on their own while dealing with an Oblivion Gate at the same time. There must have been about thirty of them at the very least._

Giving Sylvia the all-clear, they carefully made their way from the house, knowing that the attack would make everyone more on-edge and more attentive to any break-ins. However, the pair of them managed to get out through the back window and not attract any attention.

Mainly because there was no one around to see them. Everyone seemed to be congregating somewhere around the town's east gate and there was a clashing of metal resonating through the place, "Must be a fight between the captain and the raider leader." theorised Sylvia, which Arquen nodded at. That made sense.

They decided to wait out of sight to avoid any unwanted attention. They weren't wearing disguises after all and the less they were looked at, the better. The fight went on, with many gasps and cries from the throng as though it was an Arena match giving them a good idea of what was happening.

Then, there was a sound of something ripping and everyone fell silent. They were too far away to hear any words but they recognised a voice, "The Listener!" gasped Sylvia, stiffening as she always did when the Listener was close by. A few more exchanges of words and the crowd parted.

The Listener walked ahead in her armour and Black Hand robe over it. Strangely, though, her hood was missing and her hair was falling down her shoulders, making her resemble her past self even more. Behind her was someone whose face was covered by a skull and carried a ridiculously-heavy axe. Tagging behind them was the captain of the guard, gawping at the Listener like an idiot.

As they passed, the Listener glared at Arquen as she produced a key to Burd's house and unlocked the door with ease. She was about to open her mouth to ask when the stranger put his axe against the wall and pulled Arquen by the neck inside, "I'll need you." He growled, before he retrieved his weapon, let Burd in and closed the door behind them.

As soon as he had, the Listener was glaring at her with those now very visible eyes, clearly asking 'what are you doing here'. Swallowing, Arquen hastily muttered, "Checking on the sleeper agent situation." with no real conviction behind the lie. The raised eyebrow showed that the Listener was not convinced in the slightest.

A scraping made her look round. Burd was bustling about, drawing extra chairs to the small, round table, "Sit down, sit down." He mumbled, going to the sink with a copper kettle. Arquen wasn't exactly sure what to do but the Listener jerked her head to the table and so, she followed, ending up between the Listener and Skull (or so, she called the man in her head). Not the best choice of place but she had no choice since they had decided to sit opposite each other.

A pressing silence followed, broken only by Burd pulling out china things you wouldn't expect to see in a Nord's house. Not once did he look round at his guests as he poured milk into the jug, filled the sugar bowl and took the whistling kettle off the stove. The Listener suddenly began chewing her lip as he pushed a steaming cup of tea in front of each of them. As soon as Burd sat down, she reached for the sugar bowl and began heaping an indecent amount of sugar into the liquid. Skull pushed up his mask a little and gulped the liquid as it was, while Arquen only added the merest drops of milk to hers.

The silence lengthened and the tension was becoming unbearable. While Arquen felt constantly pressed by it, Skull simply gulped from the very fragile-looking cup. Arquen found herself watching him, expecting the china to crack in that large armoured hand. Anything was better than sitting through the silence, trying to repress the urge to make conversation.

The Listener, astonishingly, was coping even worse. The usual, statue-like indifference had given way to jittery anxiety, like she was waiting to be interrogated. Drops of tea slopped onto the table as she drank and her shoulders were stiff.

The source of her anxiety was obvious. Burd, who had already finished his cup and was clearing at the Listener. She did not seem to dare look up. She stared hard at the dregs lying in the bottom of her cup, sometimes flicking up to meet his eyes but not for more than a few seconds.

After a few more agonising seconds, when Arquen felt that she couldn't bare it anymore, the Listener finally spoke up, "Burd." The Nord turned his head even more to her, holding her in a cold glare that was so like the Listener. It felt very much as though the roles were reversed in this conversation. Burd was the one holding the power over her with his eyes while she flailed for something to say under them. She tried twice to say something but stopped before the words got out each time.

There were even more seconds that seemed to last forever before, with an air of completely giving up, she shook her head, "I don't know what to say. There's _nothing_ I can say that can make up for all this. It's absolutely insane what I've done to you-"

He held up a finger that effectively silenced her, "Do you know how long I've been here on my own?"

Her shoulders sank in shame, "I know. Twenty-three years to get so depressed all because of my self-centred..."

Again, she was silenced, "I don't think you do know. It's easy to say twenty-three years. It doesn't really sound like much. But, what about eight thousand, three hundred and ninety-five days? Or one thousand, one hundred and ninety-six weeks? Or two hundred and seventy-six months? Twenty-three years doesn't sound like much by comparison, does it?"

With every statement, the Listener's body sank lower, as though under a burden of regret so unbefitting of an assassin, "No, it doesn't." She agreed, "You have no right to forgive me for this. I can't even forgive myself for it."

"I've been here," Burd continued, in a forced-calm voice, "for this long without Lavinia and grieving for her without moving on a bit. So, do you really think I'm in any mood to entertain an imposter?"

The Listener's head shot up. Even Arquen couldn't believe her ears. The Listener was obviously the adopted daughter from the paintings so how he could think her a fake was utterly beyond her, "An imposter?" The Listener repeated, dumbfounded. Then, rage appeared in her face, "Are you really that addled that you don't believe what's right in front of you?"

"Don't you _dare _call me addled!" Burd's temper flared up in his face and he stood up over her. The Listener leapt up too, though she barely reached his shoulder,

"That's what you are! You lose someone who isn't even your own daughter and who was nothing but a burden on you so you fall into this depression for the rest of your life. Then, that daughter appears before you and you don't believe it's her! If that isn't insanity, I don't know what is!"

"_Lavinia is dead and buried!_" Burd snapped, his voice rising even more, "_I will not have you insulting her memory anymore! Get out of my house and don't you dare set foot in Bruma again!_"

As he jabbed his finger with a great finality at the door, the Listener took a step back. She had the appearance of a child that had just been smacked for disobedience. She still had a defiant air about her but she looked so close to bursting into tears, "Fine." She snarled, spinning on her heel, "If you want Lavinia to stay dead, she will. This will be the last you see of me."

"Stop her." Growled Skull to Arquen, in a raspy, Morrowind accent. Not really sure how it would help, Arquen stood up and blocked the door. The Listener turned her shining eyes on her, looking tenfold more threatening in her display of emotion,

"Out of my way!" She used the same tone as she had with Burd, making her want to squirm,

"Wait." She tried, thinking up every word as she went along, "I mean...we can't be...too hasty..."

"He does not want me here so I am obliged to leave."

"You don't have to!" Arquen burst out, on a sudden inspiration, "You can make him see the truth!"

The look the Listener gave her made Arquen doubt the logic that looks couldn't kill. It was the worst fury that had ever thought would come from her and Arquen felt as though she was ten times smaller, "The truth? You think you _know _the truth?" There was a desperate silence as Arquen desperately cast about for something to say. She was really not used to having to flail like this. Normally, the Listener released her when she realised she couldn't answer.

This time, the Listener drew herself up and scowled as she shouted, "Why are you spying on me all the time? Who do you think you are to treat me like some kind of fascinating ruin to be studied in every minute detail?"

Arquen backed off in fright. She had not expected such an outburst, let alone what came next,

"You, your little subordinates and all of you Speakers just love a good gossip about me and following me everywhere, don't you? Do not think I am blind and deaf! I can be offended and am by your actions! Just _leave me alone!_"

"Easy, girl." Skull held up his hand, "Now's not the time. I think we can get through this without having to resort to shouting. Nord, there are things only you and Lavinia would know, correct? Ask her those to confirm what she is claiming."

Looking reluctant, the two of them sat down again, making Arquen breathe a sigh of relief and try to get rid of her mortified blushes,

"When did she first meet the Draconis family?"

"When we attended Mr Draconis' funeral."

"When did she start talking?"

"When Saeniel destroyed my first bag of sketches."

"What did Lavinia's father call her when he was travelling with her?"

"His secret treasure."

She was answering all of them correctly, that was plain. Whenever she gave the immediate answer, Burd's face would twitch and he'd immediately come up with a harder one. None of him completely convinced him, however, no matter how hard they became. In the end, she sighed and turned back to Skull,

"Look, he is not going to be convinced. I cannot convince him."

"Well, then," Skull began to fiddle with the tie on his roughly-made cloak, "there's one more way to make sure." The cloak fell and the skull was removed.

The Dunmer had the appearance of an old wolf, ravaged and scarred by time and many fights. His purple skin was wrinkled and weather-beaten, but still held a great strength. Three old scars dragged across his face as though a bear had clawed it, the lowest one splitting his lips in half, looking impressive and threatening. But, what really caught her attention was his hair. Despite his age, it had kept its bright fiery colour, although grey was beginning to creep into the fringe. That hair was kept in a tight ponytail, which did not conceal how unruly and tangled it was.

A gasp escaped her before she could stop herself at the recognition of that face and her knees bent on their own in a curtsy, "Lord Harla!"

A bark-like laugh came from him, making her go even redder, "Old habits die hard, eh? It's been quite a while since I saw my wife's lady-in-waiting." He turned to the other bewildered two, "My name is Leontes Titus Harla. I am Polixones' father and Lavinia's grandfather. I brought her in to confirm my identity." He gestured carelessly as Arquen as he always would, "I can show you how to detect a true Harla from a fraud."

With that, he pulled off his gauntlet with his teeth and proceeded to drag down the sleeve of his armour, "Excuse me," The Listener interjected, "is there something wrong with your left arm? I've never seen you use it."

"Aye, there's something wrong with it." He shrugged off the cloak to reveal the empty, pinned-up sleeve, "It was cut off as a penance for letting my house fall." He managed to reveal his wrist, which revealed the Harla birthmark Arquen remembered well, "This mark is a birthmark that only appears on someone of direct Harla blood. It appears on both wrists and, when compared to an ordinary tattoo," He showed them the darker tattoo of the Harla coat-of-arms on the back of his hand, "you can see the difference. Also, upon the temples, you see this." He showed them the wing-like marks, "If she has the marks, she is Lavinia. If not, she is an imposter."

The Listener was already taken off her gauntlets and tied up her hair with a vaguely familiar ringed white ribbon that came from her sleeve. She was holding her hands out for inspection. Burd took the hands at once and stared hard at the identical dark bands on her wrists, then the wings on her temples. Seconds dragged on and, all the while, her shoulders sagged again, "Alright," She said, after a while, "I know a lost cause when I see it. Burd cannot see who I am and I should not intrude on him anymore. Excuse me." She stood and tried to walk to the door.

Burd, however, would not let go of her hands and she stared back, puzzled. As though he were blind, the Nord felt every inch of the skin, traced his finger across pale scars down her palm that Arquen never knew were there, "This is Lavinia's hand." He stood up and pulled her ribbon away, letting her hair fall loose again. Like he was about to braid it, he gently took a handful and separated the strands, examining every curl and wave, "This is Lavinia's hair." Finally, he cupped her face in his hands, tracing the rather familiar scar down her face as he did with her hands, "This is Lavinia's face."

The Listener's eyes were wet again, though there was no defiance this time. Her voice cracked as she took a deep breath and said, "I am Lavinia. I have always been Lavinia." When she looked as though she was about to break down, Burd stepped forward and enveloped her in a tight embrace. She stood on her tiptoes but she could not reach past his shoulders, "I am so, so sorry." She wept into his cuirass,

"You've nothing to be sorry for." Burd's voice was low, talking into her hair, "You're a good girl."

It was an odd sight, seeing the Listener crying in the arms of the man who raised her. Normally, Dark Brotherhood members had separated themselves from former family and friends. It just made it easier. It was clear, however, that the Listener had done no such thing. As she and Burd wept together, she could clearly see the bond between them, stronger than a father and daughter one, and envied it,

"How did you get that?" Burd asked, after they separated, delicately touching the scar on her face as though it was, "Who hurt you, Lavinia?"

"Someone who died for it." Lavinia answered, steadily, though Arquen now remembered who had done it, "It's alright, Burd. It doesn't hurt. I'm okay."

_She's lying. _The thought came to her at once,

"But, what about you?" Lavinia stared up at him, looking worried, as though she thought he was ill, "You're smaller than I remember."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Thinner and you did not have those grey hairs."

"I'm getting on a bit." Burd shrugged, "I'm okay."

_He's lying too._

"So," Lavinia turned to Lord Harla, "I have a grandfather, do I?"

"You do, now." Lord Harla nodded, giving her one of his very rare smiles. Arquen now kicked herself for not realising the relation at once. The two looked so alike, "I've been neglecting my duties for quite a while, have I not?"

Burd looked like he was thinking hard, "I think...Polixones did mention you a few times."

"In not such glowing terms, I should think. Aye, we didn't get along." Arquen did recall how Polixones infuriated his father on a regular basis, "You look more like your mother than him, Lavinia. Though, I can see Polixones in you; this jumping head-first into Oblivion gates you've taken to doing."

"Grandfather, if I'm anything like my father, I'll take it as a compliment, no matter what you say about him."

"Aye, I thought you would. Anyway," He glanced out the window, "you'd better go and meet your public."

"Oh, yes!" Lavinia nodded, before turning to Burd, "After you."

Still beaming, Burd opened the door. As he walked out, Arquen held someone hail him. An elf, by the sound of it. Slipping out unnoticed to rejoin a distressed Sylvia, she watched as a dishevelled Altmer from the Mages' Guild approached him, accompanied by a Khajiit and a Breton following behind, "I've been hearing all sorts, like Lavinia coming back to life. It's just talk, isn't it?" His tone was miserable and she guessed that he was one of Lavinia's mourners too,

"Oh, not you as well, Big Ears." groaned Lavinia, stepping out from behind Burd, "It took long enough to convince Burd."

There was a simultaneous dropping of jaws and widening of eyes among the three. Big Ears looked to Burd, who gave a very significant nod. It took him about half a second to take in what he was seeing. And less than that to believe what was before him. His open mouth transformed into a smile as wide as Lake Rumare. Laughing delightedly, he ran to embrace her, actually lifting her off her feet (something no one in the Brotherhood would dare to do), "Welcome back! Twenty years down the line and I never thought you were dead for a minute!" Despite his laughter, tears rolled down his face,

"Hey, don't hog her." The Khajiit moaned. When Big Ears finally put her down, he was next and, when he embraced her, he cried, "You rascal! A fine trick you've be playing on us all!"

"Well, it did get a bit out of hand." Lavinia shrugged. Sylvia at her side was demanding to know what was going on but Arquen quickly shushed her,

"Oh, Lavinia!" The Breton woman was already sobbing when it was her turn,

"Selena!" Lavinia was beaming in a way Arquen had never seen or thought she would see, "I saw that poem you did on my monument. It was lovely."

"Yeah, and there's another thing!" added the Khajiit in mock indignation, "We worked our arses off to make that and all for nothing!"

"You could always recycle it." She shrugged, nonchalantly, "When I do die."  
"And, how are we going to know?"

"There'll be a body for a start." Again, she used an even, nonchalant voice that did not match the subject. Selena, still crying, began to hurry away,

"Oh, I'll get the Draconis family right away."

"Selena!" Lavinia caught her before she left, "Don't tell them it's me! Make it a surprise!"

"Burd!" Arquen was suddenly shoved aside by the Countess, who strode down in a fury, "What is the meaning of this? I have been trapped in the castle for..."

Arquen soon tuned out to nurse her annoyance at being pushed and turned to the Count of Cheydinhal, who approached Lavinia, "Lenore!" To her great surprise, they clasped hands like old friends, "I haven't seen you in months! You do seem rather cheery. Good news, I hope?"

"Nothing to do with the Oblivion crisis but a personal joy." She grinned back. Her smiling face was so alien and Arquen knew it would take her a while to get used to it. She was a little glad when she saw the familiar serious face return, "Though, it is marred by the news of Farwil."

"Ah, yes." Count Indarys nodded sadly, "I thought you might be worried."

"I have utilised my guild to search for them in addition to their ordinary duties, never fear. And, I am keeping vigilant when closing Oblivion gates."  
"Oh, you don't think he could have wondered into Oblivion, could you?" Count Indarys blanched at the thought,

"If he has learned anything from his previous venture, he will not, But, as long as the merest possibility exists, I will search."

"I see. Well, I am grateful that you are looking, Lenore. Anyway, we shouldn't talk about such sombre things at a time like this. It only makes it worse. I was talking with Ulene and she told me you have a remarkable likeness to Lavinia Harla. Have you ever heard of her?"

"Uh...Lavinia Harla, um..." She put on a face like she was thinking hard and Arquen had the idea that she was actually enjoying a private joke, "...rings a bell but...no, I cannot say I have."

The Khajiit and Altmer snorted with laughter behind her, making Count Indarys frown, "What's the matter with the two of them?"

"Ah, don't you believe a word she says, Count!" The Khajiit grinned,

"Who's this Lenore?" Big Ears asked her, perplexed,

"Well, it would be quite a giveaway if I went by my real name, would it not?"

"I'm sorry?"

Just as Lavinia was about to explain, there was a small scream from the Countess of Bruma and Arquen jerked round to see her being practically held up by Burd, her face white with shock. Lavinia's eyes widened too,

"Rina?"

"Lavinia?" The Countess managed to shakily stand up on her feet and took slow steps towards her, "Is it really...?" Like the Altmer, she turned to Burd, who gave the affirming nod. It took a few seconds to sink in and then, like Big Ears, she laughed and lifted Lavinia off her feet in a rib-cracking hug, "Lavinia!"

"Oomph. Rina!"

When she was released, Lavinia was massaging her sides, "Why, look at you!" The Countess gasped, losing all irritable demeanour,

"Good heavens, you're Countess!" Lavinia slapped a hand to her forehead in amazement,

"But, look at _you!_ What is this tatty thing? What on _Nirn_ are you dressed as?" Arquen felt a small stab of annoyance when she realised she was referring to the Black Hand robe,

"Excuse me," Count Indarys made the pair look round, "I'm a little confused."

"Well, Count," Lavinia's grin became awkward and apologetic, "I must admit to a slight deception on my part. My name is not Lenore but Lavinia Harla."

"_Lavinia Harla?_" repeated the Count, in an amazed voice, "_By Arkay, you are alive?_"

"Last I looked, I am." She nodded, with a small chuckle that was full of good humour. Arquen suddenly picked up on the sound of voices and a good many footsteps coming their way. Peering around, she saw Selena leading a great gaggle of Imperials towards them,

"Enough games, Selena. What's going on?"

The Altmer hurried around the corner and met with them, "Come on! You won't _believe _who's here!"

"Come on, Volanaro, tell us!"

"I've never seen you look so happy. What's happened?"

Finally, they rounded the corner and stopped dead at the sight of Lavinia, who rolled her eyes and commented to the Countess, "Here comes the cavalry."

They didn't even need the confirmation from Burd. A black-haired woman broke from the group, screaming, "_LAVINIA!_" and knocked into her so hard that the pair of them fell back into the snow,

"And I thought Rina and Volanaro were pleased to see me!" Lavinia laughed from the ground underneath the woman, "Sibylla, is that you?"

"I knew you weren't dead!" Sibylla insisted, as they stood up, "I knew Mother was lying!"

"Good heavens, Flax." Lavinia stared with wide eyes, "You've grown up!"

"Lavinia?" Like the Countess, the older woman, dressed in the Leyawiin guard uniform that Arquen had come to hate, took slow steps towards her, not believing what she was seeing,

"I owe you twenty septims, don't I, Primrose?" Lavinia said, in that matter-of-fact tone, delving into her pocket, "You won our bet, fair and square. Here." She pushed the money into her hand. That hand was then pulled in and she was enveloped in Primrose's embrace,

Next was a man she vaguely recognised as the landlord of an inn she visited once, who was already crying with happiness to see her alive. They embraced at once like best friends and he was telling her how much he had missed her, _Maybe he was a lover._ Arquen theorised.

The last man actually gave her a light punch round the head and, while he was hugging her, snapped at her for being away so long. Lavinia quickly forgave the punch and actually apologised, like she had to Burd,

"Matthias!" scolded an old woman who looked like she might be his mother, "Don't make her feel guilty!"

"Alright," Lavinia shook her head, after a moment of staring at the white-haired woman, "this is just getting ridiculous. Burd's gone grey, Sibylla's grown up and now this! What on earth happened to you, Perennia? You look halfway to a ghost!"

"I'm not as young as I once was, young lady!" Perennia retorted, using the same mock indignation the Khajiit had, before breaking and hugging her too. When they broke apart, Perennia was massaging her shoulders, "That was rather tight! Just look at those arms. What _have_ you been up to-" She then spotted the Kvatch cuirass underneath the robe, "Why! You're the Hero of Kvatch! How did that happen?"

"Hey!" Matthias snapped, suddenly, "We were talking to you this morning! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Ah..." Lavinia actually started to blush, her cheeks darkening. Arquen stared to take in this new phenomenon, "...well...I didn't really..."

"And, another thing. I think we all want to know this: _where on Nirn have you been?_"

"Ah, what do you say I tell you over a drink?" She suggested, hurried, "Jerall View, drinks on me?"

"I'll be visiting Burd tonight." The Countess called, as the party marched to the Jerall View, "And, Lavinia, don't you dare vanish!"

As the streets became empty once more, Arquen and Sylvia both wondered how she could ever hide her involvement with the Brotherhood from them, before realising that it was almost nightfall and Arquen was already late for the meeting.

A/N: It may be the end of this amazingly long chapter but it ain't the end of this story yet! Stay tuned!


	31. Chapter30 The Fall of the House of Harla

A/N: It took me a while to write this, I know. I was preoccupied with uni and knitting. I haven't even drawn anything! Y'know, I think I should change the title of this fanfiction. I think 'Spot the Edgar Allan Poe References' would be more appropriate!

**Lily Ariel Black:** Glad I make you so happy!

**tonfalove: **Farwil is coming back, never fear!

**maskedpainter: **Martin's coming back next chapter, don't worry!

**BloodandDiamonds: **All will be revealed about Arquen in this chapter!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 30: The Fall of the House of Harla**

"Arquen, I presume?" The lady said, in answer to the Altmer's curtsy,

"Yes, Lady Harla."

The Lady Portia Harla was slight in body but held a very impressive aura that proclaimed her to be someone of authority. Though she was a Dunmer, her face was like that of an Altmer with a rectangular shape, high cheekbones and sleek dark hair tied in an elaborate style. By the look on her face, Arquen could tell that she wasn't impressed and she wished she'd made more of an effort making her hair look nicer. She had tried to make it look sleek by using oil to keep it in place but, with her, it just seemed to make it look greasy,

"Follow me."

Arquen tripped over her too-long legs to follow, wishing with regret she hadn't worn such a long dress. She had only been in the Harla house for a few minutes and she already felt that everything was going wrong,

"I do not normally recruit someone completely new to the high job of my lady-in-waiting but I felt that I should acquire someone younger than usual. My other ladies-in-waiting did not last very long because I chose women who were too old."

"I am thankful that you chose me." Arquen stammered slightly, feeling the lady's red stare upon her as she stared at the rug, "I am sure there were better candidates than I."

"There were." Lady Harla, without an ounce of tact, "However, I did have a recommendation so I am expecting you to perform your duties according to my impression of you."

Arquen felt Lady Harla had neglected to mention, _Which you're already failing. _They ascended to the top floor where, if possible, everything was more ornate and rich than downstairs. The number of tapestries had doubled and, in little niches in the wall, were busts of famous Harlas long dead and buried. She wanted to have a look at them but it was unwise to keep a lady waiting.

So, she hurried on. At the end of the corridor was a half-open door. As soon they reached it, Lady Harla sighed, "He's gone again." She moaned to herself,

"Who has, milady?"

"My son." She now began to look around the corridor as though expecting to see something strange pop out at her, "No matter what I do, he always manages to escape the nursery and run rampant. Polixones! Polixones!" The name echoed around the hall with no reply,

"Shall I go and call the maids to do a search, milady?" Arquen asked quickly, in an effort to escape the humiliation of being demanded to act,

"Yes, yes." The lady nodded, distractedly, "I must inform my husband. He will not be pleased."

A quiver of fear went through her at the idea of the formidable Lord Harla displeased. Lady Harla hurried down the corridor, calling her son's name over and over again. Arquen stood there, suddenly realising that she had no idea where the maids' quarters were or how to get around the place for that matter. Just as she was about to take a tentative step back the way they came from, a snicker made her whip round.

A dark-haired Dunmer boy that barely reached her waist peaked out from behind the bust of one of his ancestors. His hair was pulled into a rather tight-looking pigtail which had the look of someone very strict having done it. He had already pulled it apart with bits sticking out here and there. His noble birth was clear from his clean face, new-looking clothes and overly-heavy jewel hanging around his neck but the way he held himself was more like a clown from a travelling carnival rather than an authoritative son of a Lord,

"Mother always runs to Father when I go missing." Polixones informed her, "It's because she thinks Father can control me. So," He came completely around the bust and leaned against the wall, staring up at her with slightly slanted, cat-like eyes. Ones identical in shape and size to his mother's but held none of her piercing stare, "So, you're the fresh meat, hm?"

"Fresh...meat?"

"Well, you look fresher than most people around her."

Arquen pulled a face, making him grin,

"So, you're Mother's new lady-in-waiting?"

"That's right." She nodded, not wanting to make a fool of herself in front of any member of the Harla family, even if he was a boy only five years younger than she was,

"You're kinda nervous, aren't you?" He pointed out, correctly, "Everyone new always is but you really seem shaky. You're more nervous than my father's manservant."

"I am Lady Harla's lady-in-waiting. I have to live up to my expectations."  
"You'll never do that." The accusation made her blood grow chill for a moment before he finished, "My parents have really high expectations all the time and no one ever fulfills them. Don't worry. Unless you're really stupid or useless, they'll keep you."

Arquen wasn't sure whether to be encouraged or downcast by this, before she remembered that she was meant to be catching him and bringing him to his parents, "Young master, your parents will be-"  
"Yes, yes, they will be so disappointed and be that much closer to disowning me. I know." He waved a hand dismissively, as though he had heard it a thousand times, "I've heard it all before. No need to give me that old routine. Now, normally, I'd make a really clever remark and run off while you're working it out. But, since it's your first day and your first time, I'll make an exception." He was talking as though he did this to every servant that came his way, "Okay, you can take me to my parents. I'll show you to where they are."

* * *

"Master Polixones! Master Polixones!"

_Ten years and he still runs off at the drop of a hat!_ Arquen's legs were hurting from the chase and she wondered how she, with the longer legs, could have been outrun by him. This time, he had disappeared from his training and had headed off to the training room where the recruits were housed. As she hurried after the long-gone flying pigtail, she watched him (he was only a dark speck from her far-away viewpoint) leap in through the window. Making a jump she definitely could not make,

_It's us servants that need the training just to keep up with him!_ She thought, bitterly to herself. Her shoes were worn after only a month of wearing them from all the running and she felt close to having the legs of a Khajiit sprinter. Not that it made her any faster and Polixones got harder to catch every time. By the time she got the recruit barracks, she knew it would be too late.

Sure enough, the room for the new recruits was now devoid of over half of its occupants. Cursing under her breath, she hurried back out and called for the guards. Not that it would do any good at this rate. He had probably got half of them over the walls by now, _What idiot thought of putting barracks right next to the outer walls?_

The guards that did hear her became alert too late and, by the time they were clattering to the place, it was completely devoid of anyone. Lights flared in the windows around the barracks as the older recruits roused to the now-familiar noise of guards and servants searching for the recruits that were, by now, long gone. The sound of voices rose to a crescendo and was suddenly silenced with the heart-stopping sound of Lord Harla's balcony doors being thrown open,

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MEPHALA IS GOING ON DOWN THERE? WHAT'S THAT? MY SON AGAIN! WELL, GO AND CATCH HIM THEN! DRAG HIM BACK BY THE PIGTAIL IF YOU HAVE TO! DON'T BOTHER WITH THE RECRUITS! JUST GO!"

Knowing what Lord Harla would do if Polixones was not back by sunrise, everyone thronged to a scrum at the gate to get out and begin the search. As Arquen found a kind-enough guard to give her a lift on his horse, she thought exasperatedly to herself, _Oh, Azura, Azura, every single time!_ She knew full well why Polixones would do it; he had always been against his father's men snatching helpless orphans from the streets to be new recruits and, when he was against something, he would invariably take action.

Most all of the servants were against it too but, of course, no one in their right minds would defy their Lord. Except Polixones but no one was quite sure whether the young master was in his right mind or not. His actions were completely insane and off-the-wall on a regular basis, with little to no regard of what punishment would befall him. There were some who thought he was born without fear or notion of pain. He was well-known throughout what little of Morrowind she had visited (other than the Harlas' lands) as 'the mad son of Harla'. Something that was a great irritance to Lord Harla.

She and the guard reached town and she slipped off the horse as he was called away, "Hey, Belisarius! To the square!"

With that, she pulled up her hood and hurried down a side alley, more to escape being seen by some residents who had opened their windows to see what the sudden noise was so late at night. Arquen was surprised that everyone hadn't worked out what was going on and had just got used to it. It had happened enough times, after all.

When she delved into an alley she would not even go into in the day, she could not believe her luck. On the doorstep of a sidedoor sat a pair of young men. One was recogniseably Polixones with his now-neat pigtail. The other was one she guessed was a new recruit with dark, lanky hair. She guessed that he was just a few years younger than Polixones though, by the way he was acting, he could have been decades younger.

Polixones had never cried in front of anyone and Arquen had been told that he always hid if he absolutely had to cry. Every other time, he would take everything in his stride with a sunny grin and a clever remark. He was, in fact, the most resiliant child Arquen had ever met. Those eyes seemed incapable of crying no matter what was thrown at him and he was seemingly invincible to everything.

And, he seemed even more so compared to the boy sitting next to him. A skinny Dunmer wearing the standard robe of an initiate and crying his eyes out. If it had been Arquen, she probably would have hit him around the head and told him to pull himself together. But Polixones sat beside him, an arm around his shoulder, "C'mon. It'll be okay. What's your name?"

"B-Banus. House Alor. I ran away from home months ago and Lord Harla j-just snatched me off the street-"

"Ah, a runaway, hm?" Polixones nodded in a conversation tone, as though he met that sort all the time, "I thought about running away for real once or twice. Tried it a couple of times, too. But, it never really worked out for me. Too used to a bit of luxury. Besides, my father may be a bit of a," He called his father something he definitely wouldn't have said in front of his mother. In front of his father, maybe, but not his mother, "but this is still my home. I don't hate everything so I don't have to leave. Mind you, the way my father's going, I might be thrown out sooner or later anyway."

This, however, caused Banus to sob even harder, making Polixones stammer, "I-I only left b-because I was jealous of my little brother! I didn't think it through and now, I'm in this mess! I can't go back!"

Polixones, seemingly struck by an idea, delved into a small bag and drew out a pair of shears. What he was doing with such sheers, Arquen had no idea. She also had no idea why she hadn't revealed herself and attempted to drag them both back yet,

"Hold still." Carefully, Polixones positioned the shears through Banus' overgrown hair and began snipping. Banus realised what was happening when the straggly locks of dark hair began to fall down past his face but he didn't react. When Polixones was finihsed, his hair now barely reached the nape of his neck. Banus tentatively felt how short it was with wide eyes. Then, Polixones surprised him by giving it a hard ruffle, "There you go! You don't look anything like you did in the barracks."  
He stood up, "Oh, yeah." He added, as he began to walk away, "We're always looking for stable boys, you know. And, we take any old person willing to work if they come around...noon-ish." That offer made Banus' eyes widen as Polixones began to march towards Arquen's hiding place. As he passed, Arquen thought she was still hidden. Until, he turned to her, looked right at her with no trace of surprise and murmured, "If you don't tell anyone about that, I'll let you take me to Father."

Knowing she would not get another opportunity to catch him otherwise and feeling she could not run another step, she nodded. Polixones was always a mer of his word and he let Arquen lead him back without any complaint. He simply called out to everyone in the street as they passed, "Sorry about that, everyone! I always tell them not to make a fuss and they always do! Guards, eh?"

By the time they got back to the house, Lord Harla was up and ready to let his son have it. Lady Harla was still in her dressing gown but she still held her formidable power. Arquen quickly hurried to her side, hoping for some protection against Lord Harla's wrath. How Polixones could just stand their, bold as brass as though he was there for a boring work meeting, was totally beyond her.

Lord Harla stood over his son, as always like a big wolf over its prey. His bright orange hair (something that had not been passed to his son) seemed to quiver like flames with rage and it took all her courage not to shy into the shadows or try to find a quick way out of the room, "So," His voice was deceptively calm as ever when he began, "once again, we stand here. Once again, you have decimated my new recruits and let them rampant. Once again, you shame me and your house with _your antics!_"

As his father's voice began to rise, Polixones' smile faded into a defiant frown. Something he only ever seemed to do in front of his father, "If freeing prisoners is a shame to you, I will gladly embarrass you at every opportunity."

_How can he talk like that?_ Arquen wondered, as she did every time. The only things that could stand still and proud before an infuriated Lord Harla were statues so how Polixones, who could see and hear his father's rage, bait his wrath like that? It was stupid and could only lead to a worse punishment. This time was no different. Lord Harla marched down from his throne and clasped his son by the scruff of the neck,

"_No boy of mine talks like that!_"

"Finally cracked then?" Arquen cringed at the nonchalance in his voice, "Finally going to throw me out, are you?"

"_You had better be thankful that you are an only child or you would have been out of here at the first bit of trouble!_"

It was common knowledge that the only reason Polixones was allowed to remain at the Harla house was that he had no brothers or sisters. Nor did Lord Harla have any siblings. So, it was Polixones alone who would inherit the Harla house or else, some distant relative would. And Lord Harla would never stand for that. No matter how much he hated his boy, he did not want his estate to fall into 'foreign and unwieldy hands', as he called it,

"Why must you try your father's patience so, Polixones?" Lady Harla spoke up at last. Arquen admired her for her bravery. Normally, she would sit at the sides and watch with drooped shoulders as her son was punished. She, unlike her husband, was affectionate towards Polixones, even if she wasn't to anyone else. Very quickly, Arquen had learnt that Lady Harla was only cold and aloof to people she didn't know and became a bit more normal to people she was familiar with,

"I don't do this to try his patience, though it's a lot a fun." Lord Harla's eyes blazed at these words, "You know why I do this. Training people to be assassins is just about alright so long as these people have a choice. Snatching people off the street is no way to get them to like it."

"_Mephala's blood_!" snarled Lord Harla, "_Acting a saint won't get you anywhere in this world, boy!_"  
"In your world, maybe. And, what a sad and harsh world that is." Polixones retorted, in all seriousness,

"_It's the real world, boy!_" Lord Harla was really losing his temper now. He grabbed his boy's shoulders and gave him a good, hard shake, "_You are a Harla and you are expected to inherit the esteemed title of Morag Tong Grandmaster, which, may I remind your thick brain, us Harlas have held onto for seven generations! Or, have you been training for the past years just to let our recruits loose?_"

Polixones sighed in an exasperated sort of way, "Father, you know my mind."

The whole room seemed to freeze. The atmosphere was like a hurricane. Everyone around was holding their breath and their whole beings trembling with fear and tension. Everyone, even Lady Harla who was clasping her hands worriedly. Everyone except the two in the middle of the room. In the eye of the storm. Polixones and Leontes Harla were both attempting to stare each other down.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Lord Harla spoke, in a low, malicious voice, "If I stop snatching boys from the streets, then, will you behave?"

Arquen could not believe her ears. Lord Harla had actually backed down in an argument. It had never happened before her eyes before. Polixones' smile returned, "Deal."

Everyone was sure something else would happen. They were sure that Lord Harla would turn around and say he was lying. But, nothing happened. Lord Harla strode out of the room, still with a very dark aura about him. The door slamming behind him echoed around the room as always but with a strange finality. Polixones' turned to them all with that incongruous grin,

"Sorry for waking you all up. Devilishly tricky to organise a break-out in the day, y'know. So, now that that's all over, I think we should all go back to bed. Oh, cheer up!" He added, seeing everyone looking so astonished and tense, "It's a happy day! Well, night. Just toddle back up to bed and you'll see!"

People began to slip out of the room in small groups, Arquen not going until she saw Polixones run up the stairs three at a time. When she reached her bed, her mind was still realing. She was sure that Lord Harla would make him do kitchen duty in the morning or something and went to sleep thinking of how many things could make Lord Harla snap or go back on his word in the morning.

So, when she woke earlier than normal, she was ready for Polixones to be in the kitchens or, worse, locked in the cellar. Lady Harla was rather restless too; up and dressed before Arquen had reached her chambers. They immediately headed for Polixones' chambers, Arquen able to keep up with Lady Harla's jogging. However, a terrible surprise awaited them.

The room, usually kept tidy by servants, looked like a bomb had just hit it. Drawers were thrown on the floor, clothes were missing and Polixones' bed was incredibly unmade. His elven armour was missing off the wall, his swords were all gone and the window was hanging open in a very suspicious sort of way.

Lady Harla, now trembling to her bones, looked around the place with widened eyes, leaving Arquen to pick through the wreckage. As she did, she wondered what could have done it, _Burglars?_ No, Polixones would have kicked up a fuss if anyone had broken in, _Maybe he chased after them after they took his possessions. _How plausible it may be to anyone else, it didn't seem like Polixones to just let any old miscrient touch his things.

More terrifying possibilities came to her as she found all his money boxes empty, _Kidnappers? He may have been captured and the criminals may have ransacked the place. _Again, there would have been a great deal of noise if that was the case. Polixones would have put up a fight without a doubt. Then, the worst idea came to her head, _What if they killed him before he woke up? Even the people with the most fight in them wouldn't be able to resist against a dagger in the neck!_

With this horrible probability in her head, she began to search the sheets for specks of blood or worse than that. As she pulled up the sheets, a scroll fell out. Quicker than Arquen could move, Lady Harla dived for it and had it undone in a flash. It took her less than a second to read what was there and her face paled. When she showed it to Arquen, she hurried from the room, presumedly to her husband. Only a few words were on the parchment:

_My work here is done._

* * *

A few days later, after a lot of worry and search parties coming to nothing, another letter arrived. This time, from a courier that had apparantly come miles to deliver the message. Arquen was unfortunate enough to be the one giving the letter to Lord Harla after receiving it from the courier. All notions that it might be a ransom demand faded when Lord Harla's nostrils flared and his eyes blazed. Exactly the things he did when he found out his son had done something humiliating.

Ducking a flying vase, Arquen hurried straight to Lady Harla before he decided to follow her. The lady had not been eating much since Polixones disappeared and her worry for him was obvious to everyone in the household. At the news of word from Polixones, she hurried fearlessly to her husband and Arquen, having learnt her lesson, stayed outside the door.

There was the sound of shouting from within, Lord Harla becoming incoherant with rage. Arquen managed to catch a few words like 'little, backstabbing ingrate' and she also caught a maid as she was about to enter the room. It was too dangerous to be in there and the poor girl would be torn to pieces. The only person who could go near him in this state was his wife (he would never hurt her) and Polixones (though he was brave enough to do it, it was still ill-advised). After what felt like an hour, Lady Harla came back out,

"He ran away." She told Arquen, when she asked. Which she could do now, "Polixones decided in the night that he had no reason to stay and decided to go and see the world."

Arquen's eyes widened. She was sure she had heard him say to that Banus that he still had ties here and couldn't leave. How could he have changed his mind so quickly and without any warning, just when things were starting to go his way?

"Did he say why?"

"He said he thought about it that night and decided to do it. He also said he went with someone called Banus Alor. Someone he met among the recruits and decided to take with him."

Arquen gave a start at the name. Something that did not escape Lady Harla's notice, "Recognise the name?"

"I heard Master Polixones talk about him once." It was not a total lie and seemed to please the lady. Arquen did not like lying to her lady but neither did she like breaking a promise to anyone. All through the day, she found herself trying to comfort Lady Harla, saying he would be fine and was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

Still, she worried and Polixones had the sense to realise this. He kept regular correspondence over the growing months of his absence, wherever he was in Tamriel, sending letters full of accounts of his daring adventures, social faux pas (that might have been very funny if it had been someone else doing it) and how much he enjoyed the places he went. Arquen gradually realised it was much safer for her to take the letters to Lady Harla rather than Lord Harla. She reacted a lot better to them.

The place was a lot quieter without Polixones. Everyone said so. The recruits (now, no longer terrified street children) were allowed to carry on their training to be honourable assassins in peace, though they all kept saying that they missed the entertaining distractions that Polixones provided. Not in earshot of Lord Harla, of course.

There were, of course, times when a particularly idiotic courier would be allowed to deliver his message straight to Lord Harla by an equally stupid guard. One of those times was about a year and a half after Polixones' room had been found empty. It was during breakfast and Arquen found herself looking for a quick escape when a familiar-looking scroll was passed to Lord Harla.

It was too late. As she put her hand on the doorknob, the letter flumped down to the table. Arquen gulped and everyone in the room froze. She was expecting an outburst of rage but this silence was even worse. No one knew what to do or what he would do, "Portia," He finally spoke in a low, strained snarl, "read this and, hopefully, what I think is there is not there."

Lady Harla took the letter with dignity, doing a good job of suppressing her fear. She unfurled the scroll and began to read aloud in a steady voice that did not fit what she was reading,

_Hello, again._

_ Great news! I've got married! I found this lovely girl from a little Dunmer tribe in the forests of Valenwood called Dralosa and, well, what can I say? There was a chemistry between us and I got along with the tribe so well. I tried to get Banus a nice girl too but he was way too shy to even go near them. Ah, well. Better luck next time, I suppose._

_ The chief of the tribe agreed to marry us and so, we did! He's a brilliant mer and didn't mind her coming with me on my travels a bit. It's tradition in their tribe for women married outside the tribe never to return. Which is kinda sad but she can send letters like I'm doing to you. Now, I know you'll be a little bit upset that I didn't consult you, Father, but I have kept to tradition at least. I've renamed her Desdamona. I think it suits her._

_ I would tell you a bit about herself but I think I'll leave that until we visit. Which is going to be in a few days so, keep your eyes open for me. I hope too much hasn't changed and you're all well._

_ Polixones._

Arquen felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. Polixones, married? He had never even courted a woman as far as she knew. All the high society mer were put off by his wild reputation. Everyone seemed to be just still, digesting this incredible news. Then, a fork clattered to a plate and mayhem reigned. Arquen was the first out, being closest to the door. Others were not so lucky. There were maids pulling each other back to get out of the doors and chairs upended but she had no time to help anyone. Lord Harla's shouts of wrath were making the vases around them wobble dangerously and no one wanted to be too close,

_That idiot! That total idiot!_ Arquen snarled in thought, _What the hell possessed him to marry without consulting his father?_ It was a general agreement among all the servants and guards that Polixones should not be allowed into the estate for his safety. It was amazing how quickly everyone pulled together to get to Polixones before his father did and all without Lord Harla knowing.

So, about three days from when the incriminating letter came, Arquen was sitting in the nearby village's only tavern during her day off, keeping an eye-out for the foolish mer. Just as she was swallowing her second cup of Bruma-style tea, she spotted a cuddling couple enter with a dark-haired boy following. Tea going everywhere, she shot up and hurried straight to him,

"Master Polixones!"

He recognised her at once and gave her his big grin. His darker face was a bit thinner than she remembered and had a light dusting of stubble on his chin but it was unmistakably Polixones. Banus was more changed. He had got a bit more muscle on him and was a lot more confident. In fact, he had a very big grin on his face. A big change from the sobbing boy she had spied on in the alley.

The woman beside Polixones had to be Desdamona. People around them had started to stare at her tribal, indecently-exposing clothes which she was so shamelessly wearing, covered in feathers, gold chunks of jewellery and scraps of fur. Her hair was long and wavy, like brown fire, falling down her shoulders and not concealing enough of her. Her skin colour was a rich, earthy brown so that she might have been mistaken for a Redguard had she not had bright red eyes. She was the exact picture of a Valenwood Amazon, right down to the henna tattoos on her revealed legs,

"You are mother-in-law's servant, yes?" She said, pointing a tattooed finger at Arquen. Her voice was deep and heavily-accented,

"She's learning Cyrodiilic. She's getting pretty good at it. Aren't you, my lioness?"

She gave a happy cry in her native language that probably some kind of endearment and threw her arms around him. Feeling uncomfortably aware that everyone was watching them, Arquen dropped her voice to a hiss, "What possessed you to come here? You know your father is going to be furious with you!"

"Why would he?" Polixones shrugged, with a baffling carelessness, "I'm married and the Harla family is going to carry on."

This piece of news really hit home when he patted Desdamona's abdomen and she gave a joyful little squeak. Again, she felt the punch in the stomach of surprise...and trepidation. Heaven knew what would befall them if Lord Harla ever found out,

"That's why we're coming here. Coming to the husband's house is the last rite of seperation for Dessie and I'm sure Father would love it if his grandchildren were born here!"

_He says it like he's actually welcome here._ Nothing she could say would dissuade him and, to make matters worse, they ran into Lady Harla when she was taking a walk. She was of course delighted to see her son and very distrustful of Desdamona. Desdamona didn't make this any better by leaping on Lady Harla to give her a hug the moment she realised who it was.

When Arquen hurried forward to Lady Harla's side, the lady muttered, "Of all women for my son to choose! Running around the place half naked, for shame! Just wait until his father sees her!"

_Just wait until he hears the full story._ Arquen said in thought. Even she didn't have the power to tell Lady Harla she was going to be a grandmother. Polixones would be the only one insane enough to do that. She knew better than to be in the house when Polixones walked in. Banus too hung back to assemble the luggage he had brought with him. Arquen had a strange feeling that he had just been carrying the bags the whole journey. One of the guards, a greasy-haired blond rolled his eyes, "Oh, lordy, lordy. This is going to be trouble."  
"You said it," nodded another, "Belisarius."

Whatever shouting or destruction had gone on within, Arquen did not know and Polixones was not ruffled by it. Neither was Desdamona, _Hmm...maybe she's a good match after all if she can bear that._ Arquen thought, absently, as she saw the couple laughing over something and talking in Desdamona's native language. She wondered what it was and how Polixones came to know it so well but never had the opportunity to research it.

Desdamona seemed very comfortable in the Harla house, agreeing to wearing decent clothes after the first day and being pleasant to everyone she met. She even shared her husband's audacity to face her in-laws without fear. Her pregnancy was not obvious for another six months. Arquen knew nothing of how it worked for Dunmers but learned that it did not appear noticeable for six months and then, the 'critical month' arrived when the growth accelerated for a month before birth.

During this time, Desdamona stopped her wondering around the house and stayed in her room. It was crucial that she was not disturbed or stressed during that time. It wasn't called 'critical month' for nothing.

When the critical month did come around, Lady Harla's attitude towards Desdamona changed. Perhaps it was getting used to her or the fact that it hit her that she was going to be a grandmother but, either way, she sent Arquen on a lot more errands that involved Desdamona. So much so that she felt that a transfer from Lady Harla's lady-in-waiting to Desdamona's was on the way.

Then, during dinner, a maid hurried into the dining room in a panic, declaring that, "Mistress Desdamona is in labour!" At once, Polixones dropped his fork and took off like a bullet out of the room. Lady Harla too made to stand in a less hasty manner but a glare from Lord Harla stopped her from rising. No one left the room for hours. The candles burnt out but no one thought to relight them. The food went cold from neglect but no one thought to take it away.

The sky darkened and lightened outside but no one thought to go to bed. The whole house seemed to be standing still and Arquen wouldn't have been surprised if they had began to hear Desdamona's cries of pain, the house was that quiet. Finally, after having dozed off twice, the midwife entered the room, looking tired but jubilated, "Congratulations, Lord and Lady Harla. You have two beautiful grandchildren."

"Two?" gasped Arquen, astonished, voicing what everyone must have thought,

"Yes. A pair of fraternal twins born within an hour."

* * *

Polixones took them by surprise yet again by taking his family and leaving the Harla estate once more. Banus was not taken with them this time, which the boy was distraught over. He had taken the job of working in the stables, as Polixones had first suggested nearly two years ago, but he was miserable and inattentive. Apparently, they had got into a bit of an arguement before Polixones left which had gone unresolved.

Polixones sent letters, of course, saying he had bought a house for his wife and children and went on regular trips with a Nord friend called Burd. Banus always begged Lord Harla to let him go to that house but the stubborn Lord never let him leave. Arquen had the feeling that Banus' cut hair did not fool Lord Harla and he knew he was a runaway recruit. Perhaps he saw keeping Banus in the house as a sort of retribution.

The years went on. Sketches were sent of Polixones' children with every year of their growth and his letters remained cheerful. Lord Harla insisted on reading the letters himself instead of hearing it from his wife and, though no one wanted to, it was agreed. After about ten years, the inevitable happened and Lord Harla demanded that he stopped sending the 'pointless wastes of parchment', saying he would ask if he wanted to know anything about his now estranged son. It was not an official disowning but, in every other sense, it was.

He would say such awful things about Polixones as social gatherings (something he never normally did) and, whenever the subject of his son arose, he would snarl and break anything he was holding. Lady Harla, on the other hand, became miserable and silent, not wanting to insult her husband but wishing her son was back home.

Everywhere in the house, people were more on edge and the name 'Polixones' became a swearword that they did not even mention among themselves. Arquen found it hard to sympathise with the mer, _He brought it on himself,_ She thought, whenever she caught herself thinking of him, _Ever since he was born, he was nothing but trouble._

Over the years, however, it started to wind down. Slips of the tongue, mentioning 'the P word' or 'the D word', died away and even Banus stopped asking Lord Harla for leave. Lord Harla, though he would not speak of it, did visit his grandchildren when they were grown up and had left home but only rarely. Arquen had the impression that he was trying to get the twins to replace their father as his heirs. And, they were not forthcoming to this.

After he visited them for their twentieth birthday, he came back in a fury. Apparently, he had sent them a present of a fine rowan-wood carriage, which had been very publicly rejected. Arquen, who was passing on the way to deliver a letter from one of her high-class friends, heard a shout from the large doors leading to the meeting room, where Lord Harla held court with the other high-ranking Morag Tong members, "...disgrace to the family name, the lot of them, passing their corruption down through generations like a disease! Oh, what I would give to be rid of him!"

Gulping, Arquen broke into a run, not wanting to be caught listening in. She was running so much that she barely noticed the Bosmer wearing Morag Tong uniform in front of her. Not that she noticed Bosmers anyway but she bumped into him and almost knocked him over, "Sorry!" She gasped,

"Quite alright." The Bosmer waved a hand, dismissively. He looked like something looking at her from under a rock. His eyebrows and forehead protruded over his deep-set eyes with skin the exact colour and texture of unsmoothed granite. His hair, though an attempt to pull it back had been made, looked like a dark poisonous plant she had once seen growing in the dark. She did not like the Bosmer. She did not like him at all; that much was decided. His voice did not suit his appearance, cordial and polite as he glanced to the doors where more discussion babbled on, "What a problem the Grandmaster has with his son. If only someone would put a stop to it."  
"Lord Harla would be very pleased." Arquen nodded, "His son has been nothing but trouble all his life."

"I would hope for my son does not disappoint me so. Though, he is so young that one cannot know. Oh, I am Raeniel, by the way. Knower of the Morag Tong. And, this is Eno Hlaalu, Master of the Morag Tong." Arquen followed the finger to a dark-haired Dunmer beside Raeniel, who gave her an respectful nod and nothing more, "We were just about to catch Lord Harla with some business."

"Perhaps it could wait. Lord Harla is not in the best of moods."

"I do think it could. Good day." With that, the pair left, leaving her with a distinctly ill feeling in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Then, disaster struck. Banus, who had apparently sneaking into the carriage to try and find Polixones, came tearing into the estate two weeks after Arquen's encounter with Raeniel. It was after a few cups of wine that his words could be comprehended, "Assassins...they came to Martius and Ophelia's home...they were outnumbered...told me to run while they held them off..."

The temperature must have dropped ten degrees. No one would have been surprised if the candles went out at that instant. Lord Harla's eyes widened and Lady Harla gave a gasp of horror. It was about twenty seconds before the news that everyone knew already was spoken, "They're both dead! And, I heard them say they are after Master Polixones and Desdamona too!"

Lord Harla rose at once and began shouting, "_Call the guards! For Mephala's sake, get to my son before they do!_" Everyone jumped and scrabbled about, not really sure of the routine they always did in such an alien circumstance. Arquen and Lady Harla were the only ones sitting still, just waiting for the shock of the blow to subside. Though Arquen had not seen them since they were infants, their loss was a heavy blow. And, if Polixones died...

"Banus," Lady Harla's voice was small, so unlike her, "do you know who did it?"

"They're all M-Morag Tong assassins." Banus shuddered, "I recognised the u-uniform..."

Lord Harla whipped round, his eyes blazing with shock, "Morag Tong? Are you sure, boy?"

"With my own eyes, Lord Harla! I saw them! I think one of them was called Rae-something. A Bosmer name."

"Raeniel?" The name slammed into Arquen's head like a horse trampling her.

At Banus' nod, Lord Harla's face wrinkled with fury, "Raeniel...I'll have his hide!"

The guards, however, were too slow. By the time they got to their house, it had been ransacked of everything of value and Desdamona was dead. Hope was not yet lost, however. There were no signs of Polixones and there were indications that the rogue assassins were heading north, where they had no reason to be. So, they waited. Tense days turned into weeks and months. Lady Harla's aristocratic aura broke down with every week and, after a year of no response, Polixones might as well have turned up dead on the doorstep. She kept to her room and would not eat more than a small meal a day. She was getting progressively thinner and Arquen began worrying for her mistress' health,

_If Polixones isn't found, she will die._ Arquen knew it in the back of her head. Her life depended on Polixones' welfare. The lack of news as the guards hunted the assassins all over Morrowind began to wear away at the estate. Maids were starting to lose hope and some left the place altogether, thinking that the worst was about to happen.

The two-year mark came and went and Lord Harla began to suffer too. He became more withdrawn and stopped attending Morag Tong meetings. Even the servants did not attend to their usual duties and the place became dusty, uncared for. There was a definite air of decay about the house and people were starting to accept the assumption that Polixones would not be coming back.

Then, the blow that everyone had been waiting for finally came. The guard cart rolled up the hill, strangely quiet with no lights on within. Only one person was in the driver's seat and only one horse was pulling it. When it came closer, Arquen could see from the window that it was torn and part of the roof was torn away. There were also dark stains upon the canvas that did not look promising.

Lady Harla was already at the door when the cart rolled past the gates, along with Banus, Arquen and, finally, Lord Harla. The person in the driver's seat was the soldier named Belisarius and his face was so sad. Like with Banus' report, everyone knew what had happened before he opened his mouth, "We found Master Polixones around the border to Cyrodiil. Well, I did."

"Where," Lord Harla's voice was strangely quiet. All authority and aggression was gone. He sounded almost normal, "are the others, Arius?"

"The other half of my bad news. The assassins struck the guard cart when we were asleep. I only survived because...because I hid in the trees."

There was no one who had the heart to chastise him for his cowardice,

"And, Polixones?" Banus asked, in a small, mouse-like voice,

"They didn't get to him. Master Polixones died by his own hand rather than let them get to him. I've already dropped off the guards' bodies to their families. Master Polixones is the last one."

Like a sleepwalker, Banus broke from the ranks of onlookers and leapt into the cart. He was obscured from view but his wail of despair echoed through the whole estate. Lady Harla couldn't take it anymore and dropped down in a faint. Belisarius managed to catch her and Arquen had the job of carrying her back into the house. Lord Harla seemed to have just frozen where he was, like a statue.

* * *

There was a feeling of permanent night in the place. Everything was dead and silent, save for the sobbing of Banus or some other sensitive person in the place. Arquen just felt numb and shocked. She was too busy looking after Lady Harla, who had not had the strength to get out of bed after collapsing. She would not take any food or respond to anything to make her happy. She was dying, everyone knew it. It was not so great a shock when she did finally give up and died overnight. In the end, it was not her weak condition that killed her. She had drunk a poison given to her by a naive and (when she found out) distraught maid. She had taken her own life, like her son.

The maid wasn't blamed, of course. There was no one who had the will to, really. It fell to Arquen to give Lord Harla the news that his wife was dead. Lord Harla was probably the most changed of everyone. He did not utter a word and stayed in his quarters all day. He did not even sleep. Nor did he even react to the news. Perhaps he, like Arquen, was too numb to really take it in.

The funeral almost took them by surprise. Someone else must have organised it because Arquen had no idea it was going on. She did not remember Lady Harla's body being taken from the room or who invited all those noble friends of the family. All she knew was that she was sitting among the servants with five coffins in front of the crowd a week after Lady Harla's suicide.

Lord Harla was not there. He would not come out of his room and, as the boring rites of passage were incanted, she overheard muttering among the nobles, "Not even here for his son's funeral."

"You would have thought he'd come just for his wife."

"Shameful, just shameful."

_Like the way you're talking about it._ Arquen thought, _Are all nobles this awful? They don't know a thing about the Harlas!_ Just as she thought how much she would like to turn around and give those nobles a punch to the face, the doors were flung open. Everything stopped dead. Lord Harla was standing in the doorway, wearing his prized ebony armour and wielding a heavy-looking axe.

His footsteps echoed throughout the place as he marched up to the bodies. The nobles, Arquen was glad to see, were starting to quake at the sight of him. And, to be honest, Arquen couldn't blame them as he went past her. It seemed that every bit of threatening authority that he had not shown for the last few weeks was all coming out in one burst.

The priest at the front backed away with fear, "The devil!" He gasped. And, it certainly looked as though he was possessed by one by the look on his face. Or, what little of his face could be see through his hanging fiery hair. Ignoring everything around him, he marched straight to the coffins and stopped before Polixones' one. He laid his left hand upon the wood, with the sort of tenderness that he never showed his son in life.

The armour scraped as the axe was raised and, for a moment, everyone thought he was going to smash open the coffin. Arquen leapt to her feet, along with a handful of others but, before anyone could do anything more, the axe came down through his shoulder and his limp left arm collapsed on the coffin. The mayhem and madness that followed was unparallelled. The priest gasped and held up his holy book as though he thought it would protect him. Ladies fainted and gentlemen were left to carry their wives and occasionally children out. In all the confusion, Lord Leontes Harla had vanished.

* * *

Decades later, Arquen woke with a start, _Why on earth am I dreaming about the past now? _Knowing she probably wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, she swung her legs down into her slippers and pulled on a dressing gown. Taking a midnight stroll through a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary was the stuff of nightmares to most people but, to Arquen, it was home,

_Damn it, Adriano's forgot to put the torches out again!_ She thought, irritably, as she put them out, _I'll make him mop the floors for weeks!_ By chance, the last one she extinguished was the one in front of the Listener's quarters. As she looked round at those forboding closed doors, the old burn of curiousity ignited in her, _There's hardly anyone here. The Listener's still in Bruma. I can just take a peep._

Just as she put her hand on the knob, she remembered the Listener's words, "_Who do you think you are to treat me like some fascinating ruin to be studied in every minute detail?_" _She will notice._ Arquen immediately thought, retracting her hand, _She'll be so angry if she finds out._

_ But,_ The thought occured to her, _I'm not looking because of some obsessive fascination. No, I'm looking...I'm looking because...I'm...concerned that it might be...untidied and that...people might not have...cleaned it up in months...yes, that'll do._

So, she turned the knob and, to her amazement, the door came open easily, _It was unlocked?_ She slipped in and glanced about. The place was very dusty, confirming her belief that no one had come in for months. And, the Listener had not been very tidy when she was finding her armour. Clothes, books and various items Arquen didn't even know she had were thrown all over the place, _Looks almost like Polixones' room after he left for the first time._

She stepped on a book and bent down to pick it up. It was a very old book with some pages hanging out and there was something pinned on the front page: _Traitor's Diary. Retrieved from Anvil Lighthouse basement._ A flow of old dread went through her. She had heard that Bellamont had taken residence in the Anvil Lighthouse basement. Perhaps this was a piece of evidence that the Listener had recovered.

With a gulp, she opened it and turned the pages, only to be confronted by an endless stream of nonsensical and psychotic ramblings, some even put into poetry, _What an artistic soul!_ Arquen thought, sarcastically, _Can't have been paying that much attention to treachery if he had the time to compose a few verses._ Then, she came to a part which caught her eye:

_Oh, Mother, I'm so sorry I haven't been here in a few days. I've been so distracted. It all started when I saw her. She danced in the moonlight for the vampire, Valtieri. The lovely Lenore! She is a Dunmer and, I do know how much you dislike the dark people but do not fear! I do not love her dark face, garish hair or shrewish tongue. No, no, no! I love the grace of her body, even when she is motionless. I caught her sleeping and could not resist running my hands up and down her. The nymph did not even wake! Oh, even thinking about her dancing makes my heart all aquiver._

_ beauty come unknowing to me i'll come to you and set you free i'll lock you in my chamber where you'll dance for me without a care_

_ Mother, wonderful news! She accepted it! She accepted the rose I left outside the door for her when she danced in a show! It was part of a contract, you see. She had to kill a man like the character she played did in the ballet. Oh, she was lovely! So lovely as ever! Why did she have to sully her hands with that man's blood? No man deserves to touch her. She is mine! But, the best of it was that she wore an outfit that required a mask covering her head. Oh, Mother, it's perfect for her, isn't it? It covers her face and hair completely and lets only her elegance show! So, I stole it. I stole it from the theatre and I've hung it up, ready for when she comes! And, so she will! Yes, she loves me! I know she loves me! She smiled when she picked up the rose. Her heart belongs to me as mine belongs to her! So, when all this Dark Brotherhood business is out of the way, I'll make her my wife!_

_ !never!never!_

_ Something strange today, Mother. I was going to watch Lenore again (I know, I spend far too much time looking at her but I just can't help myself!) and I saw Lachance carrying her from the sanctuary. What does that slime what with my nymph? He should not be even touching her!_

_ Disaster, Mother! I was outside Fort Farragut where he locked my poor Lenore for weeks when I saw them leave. He had the helpless thing blindfolded! I will make sure to make his death painful, oh yes, just for that! But, that is not the worst of it! She led her to a ruined chapel and actually made her go along with a fake marriage ceremony. Oh, Mother, Mother, it all makes sense now! That wicked man has defiled my beloved and made her believe she loves him! It makes me sick just thinking about it! They headed to the Imperial City for a 'honeymoon'. Oh, I don't even want to imagine what he's going to do to her!_

_ puppet on your long evil strings i'll kill your master and crush the rings to break your nightmare with my kiss into a dream of dream's sweet bliss_

_I've been switching them! Switching the dead drops! It was so easy! Lenore was finally released from her prison and, by that time, I had already found the first dead drop location. After Lachance placed the orders, when I was sure he was gone, I switched them! It was so easy. Now, lovely Lenore is working for us, mother, taking her rightful place at last! Oh, the fun we'll have, me, her and you. And so it begins. Lenore will kill one high ranking Brother member, then another, then another, and so on, until the entire family implodes. Eventually, as is the custom, the survivors will consult the Night Mother and seek her guidance. When that day comes, I will be there, ready to punge a blade into that dark whore's fetid heart! Then, I will take my nymph and ride, ride, ride back to Anvil with my reward!_

_ !enim si eroneL_

Arquen's instincts were right. She never should have entered. She was feeling sick to her stomach (which was saying something for someone like her), _So, the treacherous fetcher planned this all out, did he?_ The idea that he had stalked and lusted after the Listener was just adding insult to injury.

* * *

A/N: It was very hard to do the poetry bits.


	32. Chapter 31: The Child

A/N: Unimaginative title no jutsu!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Glad you think so. Poetry isn't my forte, after all.

**: **I love Polixones too, even though he's such a minor character. I love him so much that it was impossible for me to show him dead or describe his body!

**maskedpainter:** This entire fic is full of Poe references, I find. I'm not even an avid Poe fan!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 31: TheChild**

_Farwil_

_Did they always love talking about her?_ Farwil thought, irritably, as he settled down to bed. All through the day, it had been nothing but Lenore, Lenore, Lenore until his head ached. His father always told him off for acting the way he did but that just made him more angry, _He doesn't know a thing about her and he thinks he's got the right to tell me how to talk about her!_

He didn't care about whether he was in public or not, nor did he mind how many people muttered disapprovingly. His mind was just filled with anger and hate that was pent up in his brain ever since he found that incriminating scroll. He wanted to tell everyone, blurt it out to the whole world and drag that witch off that pedestal everyone had put her on.

The worst time was when Adamus Phillida visited and went on at length of how he would love to bring her into the Legion. Farwil felt like overturning the table in his rage, _That idiot! That total idiot! This is his worst enemy he's talking about, here! _He had figured out what he would say and how he would say it...then, he stopped. The words got stuck hopelessly in his throat. Maybe because there were too many at once but, as he left the room, he had realised it,

_You idiot!_ He thought to the mirror, as he remembered how his chance to bring her down was so brutally snatched away,_ Why the hell did you have to be so interested in her? What's so special about her? She's an assassin, she's a fraud and she's not even pretty! _He punched the pillow once then, tried to image it as her. Yet again, he could not hit it.

This was probably her trick. She would make people like her so that, even if they found out, it would not be a problem for her. How she could do that, Farwil didn't know but she was an assassin so that made sense in his head, _Damn you._ He thought to her, wherever she was, _I hope a daedroth swallows you whole and sicks you back up into a lava pool! _He'd never say any of this out loud, though.

He first thought when he woke from a sleep full of dreams about her showing her true colours in various, violent ways that he must have left the window open. The room was bitingly cold that not even the blankets could block it out. His now-usual scowl formed and he sat up, reaching for the window...which was very firmly shut. Confused, his hand still half-stretched out, he glanced around.

There was no leak in the roof, crack in the wall or an opened door. So, what was that strange white mist on the floor and where was it coming from. It illuminated the room with a strange, greyish blue light that reminded him of the glowing stones in Ayleid ruins. Though, he could not imagine for the life of him what could be making the light. Whatever it was, it was making the shadows loom tall above him like a surrounding army of dark figures.

Suddenly, the shadow of his sword began to sway, like grass in the wind. And, then taking shape...and form...Farwil rapidly became more alert to this new phenomenon as a person stepped out towards him, wearing dark robes that trailed on the floor. At first, he thought it might be her and his fury rose. Then, he realised it was in fact male. An Imperial with a stubbled chin and a glare he could feel without seeing his eyes.

It was a long while of silence before either made a move. Farwil wondered how to make a grab for his sword or alert the guards but the intruder's eyes held him, so like hers, in a hard, paralysing grip. Then, he spoke, in a deep, smooth voice that he heard from Imperials. Yet, this one's was darker and slower, with dramatic pauses in the right places,

"Are you dumb, boy? Are you not going to ask who I am or how I managed to gain access to your chambers?"

"Alright, then." He nodded, suddenly full of fear despite his lingering anger. There was something about the intruder, something that made his bones quiver with fright. Something about him told Farwil that this was no ordinary burglar, "Who are you?"

"I am the Obsidia, the guardian of the Black Hand. You have heard of me, before. Perhaps, if you asked me who I _was_, you would realise."

"Fine. Who _were_ you?" He did not like the sound of that question. It implied something Farwil did not want to think about, which was confirmed with the answer the Obsidia gave."  
"In life, I was Lucien Lachance, Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood and Lavinia's husband."

Now, he was really shaking, not just from the cold, and he found himself backing up against the headboard. Though, for all the good it did, he might as well have remained motionless. The ghost (Farwil only just started realising that now) strode around the bed, exposing bandaged feet for the briefest of moments,

"Wh-what do you want with me? I don't have any connection to the Dark Brotherhood...and I don't want to be!" He added, on an ill-advised moment of bravado. In a cold rush that seemed to go right through him, the Obsidia was right in front of him, so close that he could see his eyes. Though he wished he couldn't. They were dark, completely dark, with no whites at all like an insect's. Except there was no shine, no spark of life. Just black holes that sucked in everything around them,

"It does not matter what you want now. You have no say in this. Your fate was decided the minute you decided to turn your back upon my wife!"  
"If it's about that letter-"

"I care not!" He spat, grasping Farwil by the neck with bandaged hands. Gasping, he tried to call for help but the fingers tightened, _I'm going to die._ That slammed straight into his head the minute he realised that he could not cry for help, "I do not care if you saw it. What I care about is the fact that you destroyed it! Destroyed one of the only things I gave her that she cherishes! Do you realise what it would do to her when she finds it gone?"

"She'd...she'd deserve it!" Farwil snarled. Perhaps it was how his throat was being squeezed that allowed the words to trickle out. No, wait. It was not the fingers that squeezed but the bandages. They had unravelled from the hand and wrapped themselves around his throat like snakes, "She's a killer!"

"Did she ever hurt _you_?" He snarled back, "What did she ever do to you to earn such evil thoughts from you?"

"She _lied_ to me! She tricked everyone here!"

"What hurt can a few small lies do?" He snapped back. This conversation was starting to take a strange turn. It seemed not so much a discussion between an unholy ghost and a mortal (however that was meant to go) but rather between him and the boyfriend of a girl he'd insulted, "Everybody lies, even you!"

"At least, I'm not a cold-hearted killer!" He countered, his rising anger now bubbling forth stronger than ever, overtaking his terror,

"You _fool!_" He snarled, "Ah, there is no use talking to you. I only did this because Lavinia would be unhappy if you got hurt. It seems now that I have to do this _my way._"

As quickly as it had come, his anger retreated like a wounded predetor back into him and his fear reared up, making him regret even opening his mouth. The bandages were tightening, his world was starting to swim. His voice seemed to have left him altogether. The last thing he felt was a searing-hot pain across his face and the last thing he heard was the Obsidia's voice,

"I will have to show you. I only hope Lavinia does not hate me for too long when she finds out I hurt her _dear Sir Farwil._"

* * *

_Martin_

Lavinia came back to Cloud Ruler Temple the next morning with a smile on her face and a spring in her step. And, she came through the door without sneaking in, which was a refreshing change. With her was a nervous Altmer (though one would not think it since she did not have the height for it) wearing a mage's robe with thick eyebrows and a dark ponytail. Baurus informed him that it was Haecuba, a member of 'her guild' (as it was called in Cloud Ruler, since no one but him knew what it was).

Yet, she was the most un-assassin-looking person as it was possible to be. He reminded himself that assassins weren't meant to look suspicious but still, she was so twitchy and kept close to Lavinia like a child to its mother. That was what he thought until Baurus murmured that he thought Haecuba was putting on an act. And, that was proved, when she and Lavinia invited themselves in for a 'private meeting in his quarters'. She immediately straightened, became more confident and spoke without a stutter,

"Martin," Lavinia had become serious too, her new smile waning, "I have brought Haecuba here so you can get properly acquianted. You will be seeing a lot more of her in the coming months."

"Why?" Martin realised that something was up. Lavinia had stood up and pulled out a sealed jug,

"I must attend to something but, as you know, the Oblivion crisis continues. So, a substitute must be found."  
"What are you attending to? What's more important than this?"

"You misunderstand me." Her answer was short, leaving no room for argument. The sort of tone that told him she was in no mood to talk, "This is not so much something more important than it cannot be avoided. And, cannot be revealed so leave it at that." _I knew it_,

"Is it something to do with the Brotherhood?"  
Haecuba sucked in a breath but Lavinia sent her a sideways glance, "He knows. You can talk to him about it." Then, her eyes flicked back to him as though nothing had happened, "Martin, you must trust my judgement to do this. I know not when exactly I can return to my ordinary duties or if I can return to them at all but what happens will happen."

"Are-" It took a few moments to bend his mind around this and come up with what this could possibly entail, "are you leaving Cyrodiil?"

"As I said, trust my judgement on this situation."  
"What _is_ the situation?"  
"It does not concern Cyrodiil and no one here needs to know of it. What I am telling you is simply because of my ability to put my faith in you." With that, she pulled off the black robe she had been wearing that had concealed her armour and revealed...the lack of armour. Instead, she was just wearing dark, loose clothing, the sort stable-hands wore and something that did not flatter her at all.

Before he could ask, Haecuba pulled off her robe to reveal...that she was wearing the now old Kvatch cuirass and elven armour. Realisation dawned upon him as they exchanged robes and the pot was opened. Lavinia began to smear something purple across Haecuba's sallow face until it resembled hers,

"W-wait, you're not going to-"

"Fear not." Lavinia turned a humourless smile on him. The sort of smile she gave when she was trying to say 'calm down, shut up, I know what I'm doing', "In addition to training myself to wield two claymores, Haecuba trained in her fields of expertise. She is more than capable of taking my place for the moment, even if her methods are somewhat different."

"I will do my best, Your Highness." The painted Haecuba gave a small formal bow like a captain to a general,

"There will be some adjustment to be done," Lavinia was now dabbing her face with a powder puff to conceal her skin, paying no attention to Martin's desperate attempts to gain an explanation, "but, Haecuba will deliver. Treat her with the same trust to do the right thing in this crisis as you would me. From here on, she is me."

Still, he could not get any questions through to her and, in a whirl, she was handing over a long wrapped package to Haecuba (Lavinia would not part from her claymores, which she hid under her robe) before striding towards the door. Martin still could not believe she was leaving without a warning as to why. All too soon, she was gone, in the guise of Haecuba.

Haecuba herself stared after her mistress with a sort of sad worry, as though wishing she could go with her. Seizing the next best thing, he turned to her and asked,

"What _is_ going on?"

"I don't know." Her shoulders drooped and he expected her to start stuttering again, "She normally tells me. She always tells me her secrets. It must be something very bad if even she cannot tell me."  
Realising at last that this would get him nowhere, he decided that befriending her would make it easier, "So, you're good friends with Lavinia?"  
"She trusts me more than others and I try to serve her as best I can."

"How long have you known her?"  
"Twenty years."

"By the Nine, that is a long time. How did you two meet?"

"I was transferred to her Sanctuary when she became the Listener."

"Are you a high rank?" Martin asked, carefully, knowing he was treading into dangerous territory,

"No. I am the absolute lowest. Everyone in the Brotherhood believes I am useless, a waste of space. The Listener did not believe that and made it so that I wasn't."

"So, now they don't belive you're a waste of space?"  
"Actually, the Listener has instructed me to keep acting as though I were still useless. As she put it, 'to make it more of a slap in the face for the Speakers'."

"She doesn't like these Speakers much, does she?"

"Oh, did she talk to you about them?"

"Just a bit."

The conversation went on in that vein, Martin keeping shy of delving into too many Dark Brotherhood secrets. He knew Haecuba would be the one to suffer if he did. Martin got the impression that Haecuba admired Lavinia's skills and considered herself a good friend. And, she was if Lavinia was that inclined to trust her. As they went on talking, Martin began to realise that Lavinia needed Haecuba just as much as Haecuba needed Lavinia. He first had this inkling when she uttered the sentence,

"The Listener can be little rash in her decisions, though. Once she has a goal in her mind, there's no turning back. Her mind is one that can be made in an instant. She doesn't always think things through and I often have to persuade her to do so." Martin remembered then how quickly she was away when she realised Burd and the Draconis family were in danger from Oblivion and voiced this. She nodded, gravely, "That does sound like her."

"You know her really well, don't you?" Martin asked, with the same amount of graveness in his voice. Now he was beginning to really unravel her, the excitement he thought he might feel was missing. Still, the hunger for knowledge kept him asking on, "Was she always like this?"

"As long as I have known her, she was. Sometimes, the Listener would hint that she had been different before I met her but I never got a full explanation. I know her true name is Lavinia and she came from Bruma but that's about it."

So, he explained everything he knew about her time in Bruma from Baurus, knowing that every gap of knowledge bothered her just as much as it bothered him. A part of him felt it was wrong to talk about Lavinia when she wasn't there but he couldn't stop himself now. Nor could Haecuba stop herself,

"I see. So, she was driven away by a fear of being found out. That does sound like something she would do. She fears her secrets being exposed. Which is why it took me so long to find them out myself."

After a while, Jauffre came and gave Haecuba new reports of Oblivion activity. Haecuba managed to imitate Lavinia's soft murmur and Jauffre left without showing any suspicion. By that time, Martin had half forgotten that she was pretending to be Lavinia and almost gave her away when he gave a start at the name 'Lenore'. Haecuba however managed to cover up his mistake by reminding him that her 'real name' was Lavinia. It was a close thing, though.

Haecuba made frequent visits like Lavinia would, acting exactly as her mistress would among the Blades and only letting her guise fall when she was alone with Martin. Every time she came, Martin asked where Lavinia was. Every time, she said she didn't know. Her confidence was slipping as the weeks went by without a word. She became more agitated and, on the fourth visit, Martin no longer had the heart to question her since she was in such a state. In fact, he regretted having pressed her so much.

Instead, he made casual conversation about himself and his life as a priest before his time at Cloud Ruler Temple. In addition, he showed her how to use Sigil Stones for enchanting, something she was very interested in, being a powerful mage like herself. It was interesting to find out that she too had been a servant of the Nine before her descent into the Dark Brotherhood, _So, even the Gods' servants can fall._ After two months after Lavinia's disappearance (it was remarkable that the deception could be kept up for so long), he was showing her how to merge a Sigil Stone with a dagger to give it a potent shock enchantment.

Haecuba was a good person, he decided. Lavinia's confidence and strength had rubbed off on her but she was more logical and took more time thinking than her mistress. She had none of Lavinia's energy or fearlessness, for she could get frightened (the Altmer confided to Martin that she often did get scared when facing the creatures of Oblivion). He had to admire her for her drive to keep to her word and do as her mistress bid her.

Martin was confident that she could do it on her own and talking would not distract her. They had got into a conversation about how even priests could be corrupt and Martin found himself talking about the Bosmer primate. The perfect example of an evil priest, really, "He picked on a new priest just because he was half-Dunmer."

"You stopped some of this?"

"I tried to. The primate got Bone Break Fever and then, he died."

"Of his illness? Bone Break Fever is not terminal."

"No, he was murdered. We don't know by who but Lucien vanished after it."

"Lucien?" She lost her concentration and the Sigil Stone spiralled across the floor, leaving a smouldering trail of burnt wood behind it. Martin hurried caught it before it burned a hole in the rug, "Did you say Lucien?"

"Yes." Martin nodded, "Why, did you know him?"

"I knew him. But, only for a few weeks."

"I only knew him for a couple of months." Martin shrugged, wondering why on earth she was so astonished. It was though he had said that he had a meeting with one of the Divines,

"Your Highness, I knew him for the first weeks of his life! I was midwife to his mother!"

"What?" Martin dropped the stone and had to chase it under the bed, casting a quick frost spell on the sheets before they went up in flames, "Are you sure?"  
"Positive. Did this Lucien not have purple skin and dark eyes?"

"Yes. And, dark hair, if that's any use. Why? Who is his mother?"

Martin could just imagine if Lucien himself was here, watching Haecuba's shock with a detached amusement then looking away in disinterest when she mentioned his mother. Haecuba looked back and forth, as though worried anyone might be listening in, "This is a very closed-guarded secret, Your Highness. If she knew I told anyone, she would not be pleased."

"I won't tell anyone."

"She said you were good at keeping secrets. And, she _did_ say nothing about keeping secrets from _you_ specifically." After a moment's thought, she took a deep breath and said, "Lavinia, the Listener."

Martin blinked in shock, before the news completely set in. At first, he thought it was the strangest thing he had heard yet but, as he summoned Lucien's image in his mind, he realised that his purplish skin was a similiar colour to hers. Though, he could not find any more similarities from his memory. Seeing the confusion in his face, Haecuba stood up,

"Let me tell you the story. It was when Lavinia had just become the Listener. Well, a month after. She had refused to come back to her Sanctuary for a month after being given that title. It took some persuading and force for the Speakers to bring her back. When they did, she ordered a mass funeral for the ones lost in the recent crisis. It was either that or she promised they that they would pursue her forever. They agreed.

"All Dark Brothers and Sisters were gathered and, despite Sanguine worshippers trying to wreck it," Martin hoped that she had not seen his small twitch of recognition, "it went ahead smoothly. During that funeral, she decreed that every Dark Brother or Sister would be given a proper burial and memorial when they died and such rites that involved killing their own in times of crisis were banned."

"They did things like that?"

"In the past. Like I said, the Listener banned them. After the ceremony, I overheard my previous Speaker talking in...well...not such glowing terms about me. Back then, I had a thinner skin and got upset whenever I heard the Speaker talk ill of me. I ran into what I thought was an empty room so no one would see me cry. After I had got most of my tears out, I realised I had accidently ran into the Listener's quarters. Just as I was about to apologise, she stopped me and asked me if I was Haecuba.

"When I said yes, she starting telling me how she had rigged the supposed impartial chosing of who would be transferred where to make sure I ended up in her Sanctuary. When I asked why, she simply said the Night Mother had recommended her for, as she said, 'a task of the most importance'. As I told you, I am considered the lowest and most useless Sister and I was at the time. I thought it was some kind of joke played on me by one of my old Sanctuary mates. I attempted to put her right when she said that it wasn't anything to do with the Brotherhood. She revealed at that moment that she was with child.

"As you know, it is not obvious with elves for the first few months. I estimated that she was about two or three months into her term. Yes, this was something I was good at. Before I was in the Brotherhood, I was in a sisterhood of priestesses that specialised in helping pregnant women. I was a midwife many times before I was forced to leave."  
"So, you were the perfect person for her."

"Yes, I suppose. Unfortunately, though she is skilled in how to wield a sword and how to draw, she doesn't know anything about carrying a child. Which is why she ran from the Speakers for so long. She was scared, terrified even, of them finding out."

"Why?" Martin would have thought the child of their leader would be looked at with some reverence,

"I don't really understand her way of thinking either. In my mind, the Speakers would celebrate the child. However, she was adamant that bringing her baby into the Dark Brotherhood would bring nothing but trouble. Some of her reasoning was logical; she said that a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary was no place to raise a young child."  
"That's true." Martin nodded. That did make sense, after all,

"She also gave the reason that the Speakers would not treat the child well because of who the father was. She does not speak of the father, since I believe it's too painful for her, but I do know that she named the child after him. His name is Lucien Lachance, her Speaker, who was the last blameless person to die during the crisis and the one who had at first been blamed for starting it. Though, I do think it might have been better if the Speakers had known. Sometimes, she's her own worst enemy.

"So, I agreed to keep the secret and helped her throughout her term. When the last month came and her body was most fragile, we retreated to a house in Skingrad. We were visited only by the Count of Skingrad and his stewardess, the only other people who knew the child existed. The Speakers did not find us and, on the day I had estimated, in the early hours of the morning, she delivered a healthy baby boy.

"We remained in our safehouse a few more weeks. Then, a new problem arose: what to do with the child. The Count of Skingrad and his stewardess met with us and we all discussed how we could hide him. Neither Count Hassildor nor Hal-Liurz could take him in and my chapel was destroyed long before then. Taking him into a Sanctuary was absolutely out of the question in the Listener's mind. In fact, the Listener's mind had already been made before the discussion. Like I said, once she fixes her mind on something, there's no shifting it. She was certain that the only way to let him truly be safe was simple; take out what was a threat to him. And, that thing was herself."

Martin's eyes widened and something clicked into place,

"She did not want to. Of course, she did not want to. She loved the child and Lucien so loved her. The baby never wanted to be away from its mother for a minute. He was so clingy and distrusted everyone else but her. I remember that he started crying when she first said out loud that they had to seperate. It was as if he knew what was going to happen. I too wept bitter tears and pleaded her to change her mind but she could not be persuaded.

"That morning, she had crept out with Lucien while I was asleep. All that was left was a note instructing me to return to the Sanctuary. I never saw the boy again. I don't even know where Lavinia took him."

"The Great Chapel of Mara in Bravil." Martin prompted, "He told me once."  
"So, you knew him?"

"Four years ago, yes. No idea where he is now, though."

* * *

_Arquen_

After a few day's deliberation, she finally decided to go and tell Banus first. He had been a close friend of Polixones after all for a time. So, she found the ruin where he had been rumoured to be staying. The due sense of dread and exhaustion followed her as she strode down the stairs. With this news, he would be even more highly strung than usual. It would be worth telling him that Lord Harla was still alive just to calm him down.

She was in luck (or maybe not) to find that Banus was in. He was sitting on a bench by a magelight, polishing one of his daggers. A big, irritating grin was upon his face (_Does he do anything but grin?_) at once, "Hello, my dear Sister!" He sprang up at once, with his arms wide open, "How absolutely fabulous to see you!"

_We've only just had a meeting last week,_

"Do come in, do come in! I was just about to have some of Raven's _lovely_ tea. You don't suppose you could make another cup, could you, dear Raven?"  
He addressed a shadowed figure standing before a table. The only answer he gave his Speaker was a raised hand to show he had heard, _So, this is Raven, is it?_ Arquen was suddenly distracted by the shadow, _The famous Silencer that Banus keeps going on and on about. Strange that I've never even met him before now._ There was no way to really see him properly from her view but, when he came to the magelight, that problem was solved.

The way he acted was just like someone from Akavir. He knelt before the Speakers, set down the tray with the cups of steaming liquid on the floor and actually inclined himself forward in a bow before leaving the room. His Akaviri robe and long dark pigtail glistened in the magelight. Along with a pair of deep black eyes that made Arquen stare. No Dunmer ever had dark eyes, for everything else about him told her he was a Dunmer. That was the only part of his face she could see, since the rest was covered by a dark piece of cloth tied over it.

Banus gave a delighted little giggle, "He always does that! Ever since we came back from our trip to Akavir, he's been acting like one of them. He must of loved it there so much that he wants to carry it with him all the time. So _sweet!_ So," He clapped his hands, "what brings you to our humble home?"

Pushing back the headache edging its way into her brain, she took a deep breath, "Banus, you're not going to believe this..."

* * *

A/N: A little tantalising titbit at the end for you all!


	33. Chapter 32: A Unique Recruit

A/N: Finally! It's come at last! I'm finally doing some Lulu chapters!

**DragonsAreBetterThanVampires: **Absolutely!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **I think most people thought that, yeah.

**maskedpainter: **Hmm...whootles. I like it. I think I'll incorporate it in my vocabulary from now on.

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 32: A Unique Recruit**

The dank cave, however cold and unwelcoming, was a welcome change from the knee-high snow outside. Scowling, Lucien tried to brush the white stuff off his robes. He hated anything that oscured the black of his clothes, white most of all. White was such a terrible colour in his eyes; it stained too easily and was not connected to Sithis at all. Vicente didn't mind so much, of course. The vampire liked the cold, after all.

Caves, though perfectly secluded and deliciously dark, were too roughly hewn for Lucien's liking. There were too many stray pebbles one might actually set clattering about to blow one's cover. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself as he strode down the passage, _One cannot afford to be snobby when Sithis' work must be done._

Vicente, of course, was in his element, skulking around like a rat, guiding the way to the bandits with that enhanced hearing of his. At least he had the decency not to act like the leader over Lucien. He led his Speaker true and, soon, the unmistakable smell of cheap wine and sound of drunken laughter could be heard. Drunken laughter that was unmistakably young and female,

"There she is." Lucien murmured and quickened his pace ever so slightly. Vicente easily caught up.

At last, they came to a vast cavern with leaks in the roof and weakening wooden supports. A very bad place masquerading as a good place to hide if one wanted to avoid being killed. In the centre, surrounded by teeth-like rocks with many thin wisp-stalks sprouting from the cracks, were a group of armoured, dirty-looking men, _Bandits._ The word popped into his mind at once. Not from the sight of the light armour but from the loathsomely common looks on their faces and the lecherous grins when gazing at the girl amongst them.

She was laughing along with them but so drunkenly that it was amazing she was even awake. Slurring worse than a Nord on payday and holding the sounds as though she found them very funny, she called out, "Ya know, thees is gonna sound, sound weerd but...bo-eys, yer ain't 'alf bad. Yer nice, yer nice..."

"Ah, what else could we do, fair lady?" It was sickening to see one of those thugs trying to imitate a chivalrous adventurer. It sounded nothing less than perverted with a voice like that, "You were lost in the snow, we were in the warm, it didn't seem fair to leave you outside on your own."

Vicente voiced the scenario that Lucien could envision, "They must have snatched her and plied her with drink to make her complacent. They'll have their way with her until they drop when she is unconscious."  
"Or, before." Lucien added. Now, he was beginning to see a use for the vampire. The wheels in his head turning, he glanced from the shaking rafters to the cracked rock above, "Vicente, can you grab the girl and come back here before the roof caves in?"

As though reading his mind, the vampire turned his ancient face to the roof with a judging eye, "Yes...but, give me a headstart before you begin."

"Alright. You have three seconds. Starting now."

The pale creature became a blur, abandoning all pretence of secrecy, and bolted straight to the group. Just as he descended upon them, Lucien stuck his dagger into the most rotting part of the wood. With a great splintering cracking sound, the thing buckled and slowly toppled like a falling tree. With the drunken louts distracted by Vicente picking up the girl and hurrying away, they did not see the stone falling upon them.

An undignified death but, for those people, they deserved no better. Sheathing his dagger, he admired his handiwork, though he wished that there had at least been some visible bodies, _Oh, you can't win them all._ A cry from his left made him look around. The girl was starting to realise what was going on and her drink-befuddled brain was slowly putting the events together,

"I can suck the alcohol from her blood." stated Vicente, "It will have no effect on me but I am sure you would want to talk to a sober girl."

"Do it."

The confused little creature gave a three-seconds-delayed whine of pain in response to the fangs sinking into her neck. Lucien had to look away; for some reason, seeing a vampire feeding on a woman disgusted him. Instead, he focused on her face, _A young thing,_ was his first thought, _but she is a Dunmer so she could be older for all I know._

Somehow, the virginal white of her snow-stained nightgown made him think that she was very young. All she was wearing was the nightgown, a fur cloak that was slightly too small for her and mens' fur boots. It was easy to think that she was a thief that wore whatever she could snatch but something about her said that she was above that sort of thing.

After a while, the alcohol in her blood was clearly starting to go. Her eyes became clearer and she started looking halfway ladylike. Vicente seemed to drink a little more than necessary in his eyes but, as he opened his mouth to tell him to stop, the vampire finally released her,

"Wuh...what the..." The girl clutched her head, shaking it a little as though to scare off midges,

"I trust I didn't drink too much?" When Vicente put on his gentlemanly manner, as opposed to the bandit, he did it perfectly, with all grace and tone of voice that was appropriate. Not that he exceeded Lucien in that skill at all,

"Drink? What drink? Urgh..." Her eyes were sliding out of focus again, "...I'm getting a bit dizzy here."

"Ah, I knew it. My apologies, my dear." Vicente propped her up against the wall, "Just rest there for a moment. I'll be just a minute."  
"Oh, _excellent_ work, Valtieri." Lucien snarled, "Now, I have to wait for this slip of a girl to get over her little fit-"  
"_Hey!_" The shout came out of nowhere, making them both jerk round. The girl's hood had slipped down, revealed purplish skin and very bright hair tied in a ponytail. At first, Lucien thought it was a trick of the torchlight but then, he realised her hair was a fiery shade of orange. A colour that matched the temper she was in, all traces of dizzyness gone in a flash, "I am _not_ a slip of a girl!"

Lucien scowled. This bizzare-looking girl glared back without a bit of fear. Normally, when Lucien gave people his 'death-glare' (as it was called by others in the Sanctuary), they would back off at once. Not her, though, and, since he had never been in such a situation before, all he could do was snap back, "I'd advise that you do not talk to me like that, girl!"

"I'd advise you don't talk to _me_ like that, mister!"

"Now, now, children," Vicente clapped his hands in a mock-authority way, making Lucien's blood boil, "let's not fight. We are here to make an offer, are we not?"

"_I _am." Lucien reminded him, scowling even more darkly at being called a child, _Still, I have a job to do. Might as well get this over with..._ He cleared his throat, pushing down his annoyance to face the girl, "Let's start again, shall we?"

"Alright." She too lost all her anger and stood, leaning against the wall for support. Then, as though something just flitted into her head, her eyes widened, "You're not guards, are you?"

Vicente gave a lilting little chuckle, "Oh, Sithis bless you, my dear! What a thing to say!"

"Us, guards?" Lucien couldn't help but smirk too, "Don't be silly. I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood and, you, you are a killer." Her eyes widened, _Perfect, _"Taker of life, a harvester of souls."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute." She held up her hands, looking a little overwhelmed, "That's making me sound like I'm some kind of blood-crazed maniac. And, you don't have to talk like that to me, either. I'm not a tourist. You're an assassin, you know that I've committed murder, that's all there is to it."

Lucien was a little taken aback by this. Not only did his speech not intimidate her but she even thought it a cheap trick. Fighting down the urge to snap back, he turned to Vicente, who was staring at her hair was with interest,

"Tell me, my dear, are you related to House Harla?"

"Yeah, I am." She turned to him, looking a lot more interested and not the least bit frightened by his wrinkled, shadowed face,

"In what way? It must be direct if you have the hair."

"I'm Lavinia Harla, daughter of Polixones Harla."

The vampire's stone-red eyes widened, "My, my, Lucien. We ought to have conducted ourselves a little better. This is the last of the Harla family here!"

"Last of the Harlas?" repeated Lucien, raising an eyebrow, "How did you escape, girl?"

"It's not 'girl'. It's Lavinia." She snapped at once before going on, "My father managed to smuggle me into Cyrodiil and I've managed to stay hidden. Until now, mind."

"Yes, of course." Vicente nodded, seemingly understanding, "The murder of that Raeniel, the murderer of your family."

"Yeah, but they don't know that." She jerked over her shoulder, indicating Bruma presumedly, "And, I set the place on fire so, that's the evidence gone. So..." Lucien could see the wheels in her head turning and inwardly smirked as he imagined what she was thinking. She had probably left something of hers behind that would connect the murder to her. When she burned the house, she had destroyed any evidence that incriminated this Raeniel and thus villified herself even more.

Therefore, if she went back there, she would be thrown in prison for murder. If she tried running away on her own, she was defenceless and would most likely be taken in for a pleasure slave by another bandit gang. So, her only option was...

"For a Speaker, I haven't heard you talk much, Mr Lachance."

"Ah," He smiled. Since she was from Bruma, he was expecting a little more rudeness and not such manners, "I find your etiquette _refreshing_." _Maybe, she won't be such a burden on the Sanctuary after all, _"We come to you now with an offering to join our rather...unique family." More thoughts went on in her head but she didn't say anything so he went on, "Now, head my words. On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen." She gave the usual flicked-up eyebrow at the name, "There, you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete."

She paused, glancing from Vicente to Lucien and back again. He could almost hear her conflicting thoughts buzzing around her head like bees busy at work, "What did this Rufio do?" She asked, slowly, glaring at him in a way that demanded an answer or she wouldn't cooperate. Vicente, of course, didn't disappoint,

"I believe he got on the, ah, wrong side of Claudius Arcadius. Rufio attempted to rob a stagecoach that contained his daughter. He kidnapped her, did quite unmentionable things to her and left her dead by the roadside."

Her eyes widened and then, became hard. Lucien smiled at the sight. It was always wonderful to see the eyes when they made the transition between stumbling recruit to hardened killer, _She's certainly doing it quickly. Promising, promising,_ "Consider it done."

"Excellent." Lucien nodded, "Now, before we take our leave of you, let me present you with a gift. It is a virgin blade and thirsts for blood." He handed her the ebony dagger that the Night Mother had lovingly named the Blade of Woe and requested be given to her, "Slay Rufio with this blade and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be sealed."

"One last thing." Vicente cut in, as Lucien began to think about his usual chameleon spell, "Miss Lavinia, you will need an alias and a disguise if you wish to go all the way to Bravil unnoticed. The bandits' clothes' chest is over there, in the corner, away from the cave-in. They will make you blend in a little better than your present attire. And, you cannot call yourself Lavinia Harla anymore. Do you have anything in mind?"

Lavinia didn't much like the idea of wearing the bandits' clothes, that was clear on her face, and Lucien could understand fully, _Those wretches probably didn't keep them too clean. Still, they will have to do for now. She can get some proper clothes once she comes to the Sanctuary._ After a moment's thought, she said, "Lenore."

Lucien didn't much like the idea of that name. That was an even less Dunmerish name than Lavinia but Vicente was satisfied and the pair left. Normally, Lucien would have repeated his command to kill Rufio once swathed in shadow but he had the feeling she would not be very impressed by it. As they left, Vicente turned to Lucien as he mounted Shadowmere,

"Quite the new recruit we have here, eh, Speaker? I've never known anyone that wasn't unnerved by your dark act."

"Or, your face." He added, on a thought,

"Yes, you're right." The vampire nodded, realising the same thing, "She didn't even flinch at the sight of me. And, it was light, she could see I was a vampire. How incredibly strange. Then again," He gave a shrug, as he ran beside Shadowmere, "she is a Harla. Many say that they are born without fear."

Being a vampire, he could easily keep up with Shadowmere. Something that was very irritating to her. She did not like it when someone could keep pace with her and liked to speed up whenever she realised this. Lucien always had to keep reining her in, although the look on Vicente's face would have been priceless if he lost Shadowmere,

"You know the family?" Lucien had only ever heard of the Harlas from a trip to Morrowind a few years ago. And, back then, the house had fallen and only existed on gossip's tongues,

"A few members I met over the generations. I met Polixones, her father, once. A very spirited young man, as I recall. Just got married without any permission or warning to his family, too."

"I'll wager that didn't go down well." They had left the steep slope of the Bruma mountains and were riding (or running) across flat roads once more,

"That was what I thought. I do not know what happened since it was only a brief encounter. That Polixones, he had such life in him. He was the sort to make up his mind in a second and keep it made." The vampire's voice took on a favouring tone, as though happily remembering 'the old days', "It'll be interesting to see if he passed on that spontaneous, never-say-die attitude to his daughter."

Lucien had the strong feeling that he probably had.

* * *

It pleased him to hear that Lavinia had done as she had said. More that he had done the Night Mother's will than anything else. That time, he came to her alone. He did not tell Vicente that he was going to see her. Even he did not quite know if he had done it on purpose or simply forgot, _I never pass up an opportunity to speak to a lady in private._ He explained away to himself, _If she can be called a lady._

Nevertheless, he rode through rainstorms down to County Bravil. It was all quiet with no sign of Legion soldiers, _So, the body hasn't been found yet. She's good._ As the Inn of Ill Omen came out of the sheet of rain, a bird whistled in the trees. No, it wasn't a bird. That whistle was nothing any bird would make. Looking up, he spotted something large and dark in the trees, slinking across a strong branch like a mountain lion.

Slipping off Shadowmere (who was remarkably unnerved), he glared up at it. It seemed cat-like but there was no tail or bared teeth, _Is it a bandit? Or a thief? I can't see anything of the face._ Then, it leapt clean off the branch, making Lucien leap back and immediately reach for his dagger, _Either way, I haven't got time for this!_

"Easy, boss!" the figure held up its hands and pulled a scarf off its head. It was Lavinia, her clothes dark and sagging with rain and her hair slowly getting soaked in the downpour. At least, she wasn't wearing her nightgown anymore but clothes that would suit a poorly-running merchant and ones that did not flatter her at all,

"May I inquire as to your reason for leaping down upon me like some feral thing?"

She merely shrugged, "Spur of the moment. I saw your horse coming when I was in the tree and thought I'd surprise you."

_Vicente was right: she did inherit her father's spontaneous nature,_ "May I advise you against jumping on trained killers? They might not be able to stop themselves as quick as I."

"Alright, alright." She waved a hand, dismissively, as though she thought he was overreacting, "So, you know that I've done the deed or are you just out sight-seeing?"

_She doesn't fear me a bit. And, I sincerely hope she did not see me before I saw her! _"I know the deed is done. You will find that the Dark Brotherhood knows a great deal about you since you are now one of the family."

Again, she was not the least bit impressed by his efforts to seem dark and mysterious, raising an eyebrow and saying jokingly, "I hope you don't know too much. I could never have a conversation with any of you."

It was a moment before Lucien thought of something to respond to that, "The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a contract. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink."

Again, she did not look impressed. In fact, she gave him a look as though she thought he had said something stupid, "So, where does this contract go now? Do I have to frame it above my bed or does it go straight to the higher-ups along with the rest of the paperwork?"

Lucien flinched but composed himself, "Here is what you must do. Go now to the city of Cheydinhal and enter the abandoned house. Go down to the basement and attempt to open the black door. You will be answered a question. Answer thusly: 'Sanguine, my brother'. You will gain access to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva."

She nodded, attentively listening to the instructions, _She listens when I am speaking plainly and not when I am artistic. I'll have to bear that in mind. _Then, she surprised him by standing up straight and holding her hand to her forehead in a military salute, "Aye aye, boss." With that, she began to march off without a word. She even stopped to pat Shadowmere before disappearing into the rain. He had tried to call out a warning but, for some reason, the horse did not attempt to bite her as it normally would but let her nose be petted for a moment,

"Are you actually foolhardy to walk all the way to Cheydinhal in the rain?" Lucien called after her. She stopped and it took her a few seconds to glance round,

"I don't see any offers to give me a lift heading my way so I have no choice. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've somewhere I need to be."

_So, it's the man that has to make the first move with her, is it? Well, I can't have my new recruit getting a chill,_ "Don't be so silly. Come here."

So, she turned and walked back the small way she had gone without him. With that, he hauled her up on Shadowmere before pulling himself up. She sat surprisingly well and he asked her if she'd had practise,

"I've been taking the horses out of the stables at Bruma since I was eight and practised riding them. I lost the horse first time I did on the mountains. I never got caught though, so that's something."  
"Did your guardian not like you learning how to ride?"

She gave a scoff of dislike, _She did not like her situation back home. Splendid, splendid, _"He didn't like me doing anything that didn't make me fragile and feminine. He made me do ballet of all things!"

"So, you resorted to doing the things you wanted without his knowledge?"

"Of course. As if I was going to go along with it." _Ah, teenage rebellion. And, she's had practise with doing things undetected. This girl is getting better and better by the minute, _"So, boss, why the sudden interest?"

_And, I do like that nickname,_ "I have been told many things about your family by Vicente." He said, truthfully, "I wanted to find out if any of those traits had been passed down to you."

"And, have they?" She suddenly looked very interested, as though he had asked her about something she liked very much, _She loves her blood family, nonetheless. Well, they are dead so there is no harm in that,_

"You would have to ask him but, as far as I can see, they have."

When he turned round, she was beaming at him, showing all her white, pointed teeth. Then, all at once, it vanished and she looked away. Lucien frowned in confusion and then remembered that she and her father had been pursued by Morag Tong assassins, "We of the Dark Brotherhood are against the Morag Tong." He reminded her, "We kill any that cross our path."

She relaxed again but the smile had gone, _Sensitive subject. Should have known. Still, she'll have plenty of things on her mind when she is in the Brotherhood to really worry about that. I'll make sure of that. _He found himself missing that smile after a while and wishing he'd had his sketching materials with him, _In fact, I think she would make a good model for painting. A change of model would be very good for me too. I'm getting sick of Antoinetta._

* * *

Painting was a very un-assassin-ish thing. Lucien knew that very well and was often teased for it. Still, he kept it up, not wanting to lose his talent. Just a little more privately than he normally would. So, when he summoned Lavinia (or, Lenore as she was now known) to be a model for his paintings, it was done in the private Sanctuary of Fort Farrugut.

Underneath his main room, below a trapdoor, was what he liked to call his 'study'. It was lit by white Ayleid stones he had stole from the ruins not too far away and it provided the perfect lighting for sketching. When she got down, the first thing she did was examine these lights closely like a moth to a candle then, glance down at the best sketches Lucien had strategically left out on the table,

"These are rather good, boss." She stated, unnecessarily, though flicking over the ones of nakedness more quickly, "How long have you been doing this?"

"Before I entered the Brotherhood." Lucien was glad this question was less inane and pointless than the usual 'how did you learn to draw like that' or any flattery like 'I wish I could do something like that', "It's a habit I've never managed to lose."

"Sounds like me." That comment was clearly throwaway and hadn't meant to cause a reaction. However, this caught Lucien's attention,

"You draw?"

Like a true artist would, a delicate blush darkened her cheek and she struggled for words a little, "Whenever the urge strikes me...and I have some parchment and a piece of charcoal handy." He spotted her hand moving down to a worn and faded flame-embroidered bag,

"And, is whatever there is in that bag a result of these urges?"

"Well, yes." She fumbled with the clasp and brought out a large, jumbled wad of parchment that looked like his sketches when he was on a very strong artistic streak. Flicking through them, he could see that she was drawing straight from the model without anything of her own added. It was just imitation, nothing of her own really added. There were some where she was clearly drawing out stories she had heard. Like the receiving of the Amulet of Kings from the Gods and Pelagius Septim the First being murdered (he had to admit, she had been close to what the Dark Brothers actually looked like). These were not as richly detailed or well done as the ones done straight from life, though,

"The proportions of the human body are a little odd in your drawings." He noted, as he examined a sketch of an Altmer he had seen drawn about five other times in her sketches, "Especially the limbs."

"I know." She nodded, "I can never get them quite right. I can do backgrounds and scenery fine but not so much people."

Lucien was starting to rather like this conversation. It wasn't often one could talk about drawing techniques with a Dark Sister. Of course, discussing murder was a good thing but art was a more personal topic for him. Something one only talks about among good friends, "That's strange. It was the other way round for me when I first started."

"But, you don't, now?"

"No, I have had plenty of practise and have found that I can do backgrounds straight from my head now."

"Is that what all these are?" She gestured around at the paintings on the walls. Lucien had taken to hanging some of his favourites up on the wall just that morning. Like he always did when he was expecting company. All had smaller lighted stones under them, at the side or above, wherever it looked best,

"Yes. My strategy is to draw the person involved and paint the background later."

"Oh, I see. Ah, yes, that's Netta." She went about examining the paintings one by one, making little comments that were the sort of things an artist liked to hear. Like, the style of rendering or the stratetic paintstrokes. As she did, she identified the Sanctuary members in the paintings by nicknames she had seemingly made up herself. Like 'Netta' for Antoinetta or 'Eva' for Ocheeva, _Perhaps it's a habit of hers to give her friends nicknames._ Looking through the sketches, he could see that was probably the case if the caption 'Big Ears' was anything to go by on the Altmer sketch,

"Tell me, Lenore," He spoke on a whim, "have you ever tried painting your works?"

"Never crossed my mind." She didn't look up from one of the darker paintings, Lucien's impression of the meeting between the Night Mother and Sithis, "I just stuck with my sketches. Paint's too messy for me. Though, it isn't for you, obviously, boss."

"A little mess doesn't bother me, whether's it's work or play."

She turned, raising an eyebrow, "Is that meant to be some kind of morbid hint about your killing techniques?" That usual unimpressed voice, reserved for when he was trying to be dark and forboding. He didn't know whether she was genuinely unimpressed or just acted that way to annoy him. He wouldn't put it past her, "You're not about to tell me that you paint using your victim's blood, are you?"

"I did try that once," Lucien nodded, nonchalantly, just to see her reaction. Which did not change a bit, "but it just isn't practical. It soaks right through the canvas and runs terribly."

"So, you're not going to be painting _me_ with blood, then?"

"No, just normal paint would suit you better. Now then, just sit over there and let's get started."

So, he got her sat on the carefully placed seat and, after a bit of getting her to arrange her limbs the right way, he got to sketching. Thankfully, she didn't try to initate conversation or move. A sign that she knew the sort of conditions an artist needed to work. It took him a while to do her hair since it was so curly that it needed a lot of detail to get right.

He already had an idea of what to do with the sketches and what sort of painting he wanted to do of her. It was something he didn't normally do: one that involved happy, bright colours. He probably would need to buy some new ones later since the ones he had were so little used and probably not fit to be. As he sketched, he imagined her among a field of flowers beneath a wide-reaching tree. Perhaps wearing a white dress.

An image that would normally make him gag and wish for some darkness but he could bear it, since it suited her more than a darker scene. He wasn't quite sure why, it was just his artist's instinct telling him that. And, it was never normally wrong. Even when she told him not to do anything that made her look feminine, the picture was too firmly in his head to be shaken off.

* * *

When he next visited the Sanctuary to tell her the painting was done, he at first could not find her. She baffled him by being neither in the training room or the living area. Whenever he asked anyone, they simply gave significant glances up to the ceiling, making him think that she was outside but, of course, he would have noticed if he had. In addition, he had the impression that they were all playing a joke on him. Something he did not like one bit.

He looked up at last simply out of sheer exasperation...and had to do a double take. A familiar dark shape was balanced on the wide beams of the rafters, sitting quite contently like a big cat, "Finally got it, boss?" Lavinia grinned down at him,

"What in the name of the Night Mother do you think you're doing up there?" If she was on a contract, that was understandable but staying in the rafters when not at work was just unnecessary. She simply gave a shrug,

"I just like it up here."

"Don't try and persuade her down, Speaker." Vicente appeared at his elbow, "She simply won't. She only comes down for work, I think."

"Well, then, how can she come to Fort Farragut and see her painting up there?" He directed the question at her. At the mention of the painting, she immediately became interested. After a quick look round (presumedly for somewhere to land), she settled to come down...on top of M'raaj Dar,

"Oh! Sorry!" She said, in a sweet voice that said plainly that she had planned that landing,

"Those two don't get on." Vicente murmered,

"I would never have guessed."


	34. Chapter 33: The Kindness of Vampires

A/N: I really had a bit of a block with this chapter. Fortunately, I had the Janus bit left over from my last flashback chapters and, since I didn't know what else to do with it, I stuck it on the beginning here.

As to my reviewers, there is one I'm not going to dignify with a response. I won't put who that reviewer was but it was generally agreed among my readers that they were wrong in their criticism to this story.

**Miss Lieress: **Ah, a good bit of nostalgia is great in such a dark story like this.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Yep, young Lavinia sure is different from her older counterpart.

**maskedpainter: **Yes, there will be more Martin in the future, you crazy person!

**: **Can't you imagine every murderer trying to paint with blood in a strange, twisted way?

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 33: The Kindness of Vampires**

_Janus_

In the past, Janus had good nights and bad nights. This certainly fell into the bad night category. Not for any particular reason; nothing had gone wrong. Except the appointment of the sneering Mercator Hosidus to his staff. He was rude and Janus didn't trust him a bit. Perhaps that was what put him in such a bad mood that night. It was the little things that really got to him.

One would think, being a vampire, he'd have bigger problems and wouldn't worry about these sort of things. The trouble was, being a vampire, his senses were heightened and he blamed that for making him more irritable than when he was mortal. The combined effort of doing his duties in private and keeping his emotions in check, plus the stress of his wife's condition and the problems of his city left him in a very irate sort of mood that night.

He finished his 'nightly meal' and stalked out of Skingrad. Under cover of shadow and his cloak, he dodged the riding Legion soldier nearby and sat down against a tree near the little pool close to the vineyards. The moons were both out and it was a cloudless night. He could hear the mages that had come from Bruma packing up their caravan in preparation to leave the next morning.

He'd been able to hear them from Castle Skingrad with his enhanced hearing and they had been much too noisy for him. Of course, he couldn't very well ask them to keep the noise down because it would look very suspicious indeed if it got out that he could hear them even when the guards couldn't. Needless to say, he was now glad to see the back of them.

The High Elf, Volanaro, and the Khajiit, J'skar, in particular gave him grief. They liked to play pranks on an associate they had brought with them called Jeanne. And they liked to play them constantly. The alchemist, Selena, often told them off for it, which added to Janus' headache. He now fully understood why vampires liked to frequent caves and other similarly remote places, to be away from all the noise. Not that he was ever going to be reduced to that, _Absolutely not._ He said to himself as he thought about it.

Just as he ran a hand through his hair and began absently looking around, something caught his nose. The smell of a human, somewhere nearby. At first, he thought it was the Legion soldier idly riding past but no, it was too close for that. In fact, as he took in more deep breaths through his nose, he realised that it was coming from somewhere right above him.

While he thought how absurd a notion like this was, he looked up anyway to confirm this. Then, he spotted her. On a branch above his head, staring down at him with bright, large eyes, was a girl staring down at him. It took him a few blinks and a full minute to fully realise that she was there. Perhaps it was because he hadn't dared to be in close proximity with children since he became a vampire and he didn't care to count how many years that had been,

"Hello." Her voice was lower than a normal child's and Janus hazarded a guess at her being an elf,

"Hello." He answered, guardedly. It was too late to run off now and the strict manners he had been taught since childhood were kicking in. She began to shift her ground, carefully climbing off the branch. Immediately, Janus stood up, realising the distance she had to climb and what she could very easily fall from,

"Here, let me help-"

"No, I'm fine." She insisted, navigating the branches without fear. Indeed, she reached the ground with no problems whatsoever. Not even losing her balance once. Standing beside him, she barely reached his shoulders and only just stood above his waist. The dim light of the moons showed her dark face and red eyes, which gazed hard up at him as though trying to stare him out, "What are you doing out here at this time of night?" Her tone was perfectly friendly and so was the question. Janus found himself relaxing his guard a little and answering,

"I could ask you the same question, young lady. Good little girls aren't meant to be out on their own at night, especially not outside the city."

With a big, almost manic smile, she answered sweetly, "I'm not trying to be a good little girl."

"And, why not?" Janus's lips flicked up in a smile that was covered by the handkerchief he kept over his face,

"Because, it's boring."

He could have laughed out loud at that. Not just at her answer but at the realisation that he was having a perfectly civil conversation in the wilderness with a little Dunmer girl as though they had met at a dinner party. Such a possibility seemed long gone when he lost his mortality. After a small pause, she went on,

"This is much more fun. I've never been to Skingrad before."

"Haven't you? Where do you live?"

"Bruma."

Thinking she had probably come down with her family for a holiday, he asked, "Where are your parents staying?"

"They're not here."

"Not in Skingrad?"

"No."

It took him a while to realise the implications of this and realise the potential severity of this situation, "Then, where are they?"

"I haven't seen them in years." She said, matter-of-factly, "I live with their friend. He's in Bruma."  
Janus could have staggered at this, "You mean you came down to Skingrad _on your own?_" He demanded, his eyes widening. Without a flinch, she nodded and, in the same matter-of-fact tone, answered,

"I came down with the Mages' Guild. They didn't know I was there because I hid in one of the cases. I like it here in Skingrad." She suddenly said, looking around at the pool, "Everything's really colourful. Bruma's all white everywhere you look."

"You-you can't-" Janus couldn't even find the right words to impress on this strange girl how serious this was, "And, you've been wandering around in the wilderness at night?"

"Every night, yes." She nodded, still acting as though nothing was wrong, "I can't go out in the day. Someone would recognise me and send me back to Bruma. I'm not scared of the dark and, if something attacked me, I'd smash them." At this, she gestured at something dark on her back. It was an elven longsword worn on her back like a claymore. Indeed, to her, it must seem as long as that.

This time, Janus really did stagger back in shock, "Where did you get that?" He said, sharply,

"Found it in one of the packs. I thought it was silly to go out of the city without a weapon."

"You-you really shouldn't be-"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm careful with it." She gave a big smile as though it was meant to be reassuring and, before Janus could get another word out, she put her head to one side, "You've got eyes like mine. Are you part Dunmer?"

Cursing his carelessness, he pulled his hood back over his eyes. Quickly grasping on her assumption, he quickly said, "Yes. My father was a Dunmer. I inherited his eyes." But, he had the feeling that she was not fooled. Something about her told him that she was not one who could be easily lied to. He told himself that it was nonsense, that a girl a fraction of his age could see through him. Still, he could see it in her eyes,

"It's not cold." She added, "Why are you wearing a cloak?"

"I've got a bit of a cold. You'd better not get too close to me. I don't want you getting it." Janus answered, not without a slight falter. He kicked himself mentally for it, _She was fine with me questioning her so why should I get so nervous? I must be nearly ten times older than her!_ Then again, he had rarely been in situations when his secrets were threatened to be revealed, _One would think I would have better excuses than that. I've had years to think them up._

With a raised eyebrow, the girl folded her arms and said, in a very authoritative tone that did not match her size, "Well, you shouldn't be out at night, either."

Seizing this opportunity to slip away, Janus nodded distractedly, "Yes, I'll remember that. Well, I think I should be off in case it gets worse." He turned his back on her and began jogging as quietly as he could towards the path. Just as he thought he was a good distance from her, his cloak gave a sudden jerk and came right off.

Whipping round, he saw her standing on the hem of his fallen cloak with a deceptively innocent look on her face, "Oops. Sorry." She said, in a tone that did not match the words.

Then, her smile faded when she saw his face. Janus became painfully aware of the moonlight revealing him as a vampire. He should run, he should escape now while he had the chance but he was rooted to the spot. He had feared this eventuality, dreaded it. Seconds passed. All the while, he expected her to scream, to run wildly into the woods or, worse, faint.

What he didn't expect was her to break into a smile again, "Oh, I _see_!" She nodded, as though he had just explained something very complex and interesting to her, "That's why you cover your face."

"Ah," This time, Janus was completely thrown, "well, yes...I..." _Perhaps she doesn't know how to recognise a vampire,_ he thought, but that reasoning was squashed by her saying,

"I've never met a vampire before. What's it like?"

Completely dumbfounded, Janus tried to find the right words. Here he was, talking to a runaway Dunmer girl who knew he was a vampire and wasn't the least bit scared. Never had he imagined this kind of scenario in his extended life, "Aren't...aren't you scared?" He asked, warily,

"If you wanted to attack me, you would have done it already. That's logic." She said it in a way that made Janus think she was quoting from some adventure book she had read. Giving him a mischievious sort of smile, she added, "My dad wasn't scared of them so I'm not. You don't talk to many people, do you?"

"No, I don't." Janus confessed, _As if I'd have the opportunity to._ He added in his head,

"I didn't think so." She said, bluntly, "Anyway," she reached up for the hood over her face, "since I see your face, you should see mine." The hood fell back, along with light-coloured locks of hair. He couldn't see the colour very well due to the moonlight but he hazarded a guess at it being a reddish brown sort of colour. Maybe something lighter, "I have to keep my hair covered because it stands out too much." She said, before he could open his mouth.

He could vaguely hear the Legion soldier talking to Volanaro, telling him that he was looking for a seven-year-old Dunmer girl that had been missing for days. This made him snap out of it and realise that this girl couldn't stay out here, "How long have you been in Skingrad?" He asked, injecting some severity into his voice,

"Since the Mages' Guild arrived. That would be..." She paused, "...three days..."

"And you didn't tell this friend of your parents' you were going?"

"No. He never wants me to leave Bruma." A trace of childish defiance was in her voice at these words, "He wants me to stay in Bruma forever and do those stupid ballet classes."

"Running away won't make it any easier." Janus argued, sternly, "It'll only make it worse."  
"I wasn't going to stay away forever." The girl countered, "I was just going with the Mages' Guild and come back with them. They needn't know."

"Don't you think he'll be worried about you?"

"No." She shrugged, sounding incredibly sure,

"I think he will. Come on." Janus beckoned her forward, towards the caravan. He didn't trust her not to go back, "They're packing up ready to go."  
"Oh, must I?" She moaned, her mouth drooping in disappointment,

"Yes. Come along. And, I think you should show yourself to the Mages too."  
"Why? I'll only get in trouble."

"I think they would know about it by now. Word of mouth travels fast."

"They won't be worried. Volanaro knows me. He knows I won't get in trouble." She said, offhandly. Janus wasn't sure whether this was denial or she really thought that. She was a very poor judge of emotions if it was the latter, _Still,_ He thought, _she's only a child, no matter how mature she is._ They approached the caravan and Janus could very clearly hear the conversation between J'skar and Volanaro,

"...think she could have gone far."

"I hope no one's got a hold of her."

"They'd have me to deal with if they do."  
"They _are_ worrying about you." Janus turned a hard eye on her, who looked at him puzzled. He only realised then too late that he had betrayed his enhanced senses. She didn't stay puzzled for long, though, and, seemingly putting this aside, she nodded, "Alright. I'll go to them. I'll be fine from here, I think. Good night, Mr Fang!"

With that, she skipped off, leaving Janus gobsmacked once more. Once sure that she had been found, he turned and made his way back to the castle. Once he had reached the safety of his drawing room, he sat down and had to smother his laughter. He was unsuccessful and Hal-Liurz poked her head around the door, "What's so funny, milord?"

"I think," He managed, between chortles, "I've just had a perfectly good conversation with a seven-year-old girl."

* * *

_Vicente_

Seven years later, Vicente was searching for Lenore in the Sanctuary. Vicente took pride in the fact that only he could pinpoint exactly where Lenore was within the Sanctuary. With his vampire senses, he could easily catch the sound of her heartbeat and follow it to wherever her hiding place. The heart was an excellent thing in Vicente's mind. It was not a liar even if the person was. He could always detect the tell-tale uneven beat that betrayed deception and nerves and the quickened rate made it all too obvious to tell where someone was hiding.

In fact, Vicente was very proud of his adeptness at detecting heartbeats. So much so that refined it enough for him to detect the subtlest of changes that came along with changes in emotion. Lenore's heart was no exception. Whenever he came close below where she was, her heart would race until it was a beat he could dance to.

In fact, her heart was much more alive than most people. It would increase with little stimulation and every emotion brought on a stronger beat. If he remembered correctly, it was just like her father. He was quick to mention it because it made her so happy to be compared with him. And, he liked the assassins in the Sanctuary to be happy. It made the blood taste better.

So, naturally, he was concerned when he detected Lenore's heartbeat weakening as she climbed higher and higher up the spider-web of rafters above their heads, _Hmm..._He began to think, _so, does climbing higher mean she's upset? _There were certain little tells that revealed Lenore's moods because she certainly wouldn't tell anyone how she felt without any encouragement. Even to the most friendly and understanding of people,

_Mind you, she spent most of her life on the run so it's natural that an impressionable child would think that being in plain sight was a bad thing. Ah, Polixones, you should have taken her straight to Cyrodiil instead of going all around the world with her. She wouldn't be so untrusting otherwise. But, maybe it's just the Harla curse, along with the silences._

_ Either way, I can't have one of our killers hiding in the roof!_ He stretched his muscles, cracked his knuckles and took a leap. Despite his 'frail old age' (as he called it jokingly), he managed to grasp the rafter easily and swing himself up. He swayed, having never done it before. He'd only seen Lenore do and it had seemed easy enough, _She must have had practise while she laboured under her misguided instinct to hide even when she lived a normal life._

He shook his head, _What a troublesome little girl. She must have led her guardians on a merry little dance to satisfy what she had learned._ It took him a while of unsteady swinging and balancing to even get close, _One would have thought being a vampire would aid me in this. Ah, I must be out of practise. Too much time spent underground._

At last, he found her, sitting on one of the highest rafters and her grey cloak obscuring her from view. Since she had taken an extreme dislike of the shrouded armour's hood for some reason, she had taken to wearing that grey cloak she stole from someone rich who lived close to the Sanctuary. Her reasoning was that he was throwing it out anyway and it was a waste to not use it. Indeed, there had been no complaints in town so he had to assume this was true. One could never be sure in the Dark Brotherhood whether the truth was being given,

"Anything the matter, Lenore?"

No answer. Not that he expected any. He had learned from his meetings with Harlas that, once they refused to answer, there was no way to drag one out of them. He wondered if she was just refusing to answer or had come into a real muteness phase. Either way, she was acting very well as though Vicente wasn't there. Her heart had quickened a little so she knew he was there, though,

"How did your last contract go?" He tried. She gave no answer but her heart leapt a few beats, _It's something to do with that, then, _"Did it go badly?" No change, _That's a no, then. So, what could be bothering her?_ "Are you having regrets?" A slight quickening, even more than before. Her heart really was like a metal-detecting spell he had heard the mages had developed; the closer one got, the louder the beat was.

He sighed. There were always those who had regrets, who had not completely cut their ties with normal life before coming into the Brotherhood. It was always hard to deal with them too. One would expect that assassins would be insensitive about it and tell the person to pull themelves together. And some did but Vicente knew that would just make things worse with her. She would probably just hit him back if he tried that, no matter how upset she was. And, he did not particularly like having a black eye for a week, _Well, I don't know if she can hit that hard but I would rather not find out. So, more guesswork for me,_

"Are you thinking about your victims?" A smaller beat increase, not as strong as the others, _A partial yes? _"Are you thinking about the ones you left behind?" A stronger increase, _A combination, eh?_ Just as he tried to think of something else, there was a voice from beneath him,

"Vicente! Vicente, I need your help with these contracts!"

_Ocheeva..._Groaning inwardly, he began to awkwardly climb down, "Excuse me, I'll be just a minute." When he reached the floor, Ocheeva was flicking her tail and staring at him,

"What were you doing up there?"

"Trying to talk to Lenore."

"You'd best be leaving her." Ocheeva waved a hand dismissively, "Once she's up, she'll stay up until she sees fit to come down. You, of all people, should know that."

Ocheeva did not really trust Lenore. She was civil enough to her, unlike M'raaj Dar who truly disliked her, but the impatient Argonian had no time to entertain Lenore's strange habits and made this known by ignoring her if she was in the rafters and getting other people to talk to her if she was. Ocheeva probably thought that Lenore was a rather silly and disturbed child that should be kept away from the 'normal children' in case she set a bad example. Such a prim and indefinitely stupid mother figure.

The paperwork took ridiculously long as always. One would think that Vicente would be a little more relaxed about taking his time with trivial things since he had lived so long but his long life had provided him with too many thoughts of what better things he could be doing with his time and even boredom of the same old thing. It didn't help that Ocheeva demanded his full attention at all times.

With the distraction of countless contracts having to be signed off and written out, he couldn't pay attention to Lenore's heartbeat and eventually lost track of it due to the endless mountain of orders dictated word for word by Ocheeva. These were completely legitimate and had to be done but Vicente had the paranoid feeling that she was deliberately keeping him there to get him away from Lenore.

And, so, by the time he had completed it, he could not longer find her heartbeat. She had probably gone outside since she was nowhere among the rafters and the heartbeat had disappeared from his senses, _Confound it! _He resigned himself to staying inside (it was broad daylight outside after all) and join in with Teinaava' loving remeniscence of the time they highjacked a travelling carnival, knowing that, when she came back, she would have probably turned her back on whatever was bothering her.

This was proved right by her coming back a few hours later, sneaking up on Gogron from the rafters and leaping on his shoulders like a grey bat. The ensuing scuffle drew most of the others to the scene, in time to see Gogron throwing Lenore, who in turn clung monkey-like to the rafter by the tips of her fingers, "Don't you sneak up on me like that!" snapped the Orc,

"Don't _you_ throw _me_ about like that!" retorted Lenore, who had a good grip with her legs and was hanging upside down like a bat with her cloak hanging off her shoulders by the clasp and half-crumpled on the floor, "I was only saying hello!"

"What happened to a simple 'how was your day', then?" Telaendril appeared at that point, "Really, Lenore, how do you expect to become a refined lady if you act like some wild thing? And, there I was, hoping you'd be able to overcome your upbringing in Bruma!"

"Hey!" With a scowl, Lenore pulled herself up onto the beam and threw what looked like a broken-off piece at her, which she dodged easily, "Don't you talk about Bruma like that! And, if being a 'refined lady'," She said this dripping with sarcasm, "means badmouthing Bruma, I prefer being a wild thing!"

Vicente shook his head. He knew there would be problems whenever someone new entered the Brotherhood, what with fitting in and how good she would be at contracts. But, Lenore didn't even seem to be trying. She just stayed in the rafters when she wasn't doing contracts and not talking to anyone but Vicente unless it was business. Asking for advice was simply out of the question. Which was why she had spent her first week with her arm in a sling, nursing a broken arm she wouldn't admit she had.

However, Telaendril did not back down, "You are fourteen and a woman! Come along, girl! We are going _shopping!_"

Gogron gave a big smile, since this meant he didn't have to go for a change and hurried off without offering Lenore a bit of help, leaving her to try to cling to the rafters like a mad dog was pulling her down, not a determined Bosmer,

"Get off! _Get off! I hate shopping!_" Lenore screamed, trying to punch at her face while Telaendril, well out of reach, tugged at her cloak. Vicente didn't blame Teinaava and Antoinetta for starting to laugh. The scene really was quite comical. Finally, after whacking the girl over the head with her bow a few times, she was tugged down and dragged out, kicking and screaming as though she was being kidnapped.

Ocheeva tutted disapprovingly, "Such a fuss over nothing!" as she marched back to her room,

"She's touched in the head." M'raaj Dar added, like he was saying the sky was blue, "A crazy little thing. Should be locked up."

"Ah, you can't blame her." Teinaava shrugged, "A shopping trip with Telaendril is enough to drive anyone mad."

Vicente settled down at a table close to the door to wait for them. He wanted to have a little talk with Lenore about trying to be more sociable and surely, she would be easy to catch if she was laiden down with Telaendril's no-doubt dozens of parcels. And, he was not mistaken. They came back that evening with Lenore moaning all the way in while carrying parcel upon parcel of shopping,

"...didn't need to spend half as long in that clothes' shop. What is the point of-"

"Ah, welcome back." Vicente stood up, seeing a possible fight ahead, "I hope your trip was...profitable." He did not dare say enjoyable,

"It might have been if this little thing hadn't been moaning all the way through it." Telaendril snapped, "She didn't want to try anything on and-_don't just dump them on the floor! Pick them up and take them to the sleeping quarters!_" A grumbling Lenore made to pick up the dumped packages but Vicente, on a sudden idea for a gesture of goodwill, called Antoinetta over,

"Antoinetta, could you help Telaendril with her bags? I need a private word with Lenore."

His gesture worked. While Antoinetta and Telaendril grumbled about 'favouritism', Lenore approached him. Her heart was quickening at the knowing look on his face, as it always did. She hated it when people knew more than she wanted them to,

"If it's about earlier on," she immediately said, not looking at him, "it's not important."

"This is more about how you're settling in generally. Ah...are you actually making an effort to settle in?"

"What do you mean?" As she took the seat Vicente offered her, the rings on her ribbons jangled a little too loudly for Vicente's liking,

"You don't wear those on your contracts, do you?"

"So?"

"I don't think you realise how loud they are. They could give you away."

"I've never had a problem before."

"That's not the point. With your current rate of advancement, you could be doing harder contracts that require you to forsake those very soon."

She said nothing but she did not look convinced. Which was rather irrational; he was just stating the obvious, _Teenagers...they'll do anything except admit they're wrong,_

"Now, as I was saying, your inability to fit in with the other Brothers is a little unsettling. Being able to rely upon our own for support is very important to the Brotherhood. We are a united force and that cannot be achieved if one is apart from the rest."

Lenore pulled a face as though he'd said something stupid, "I like doing things on my own."

"That might have to change very soon."

"I'm _not_ going to try and be friends with M'raaj Dar."  
"I recommend you don't."

"Alright, now you're contradicting yourself."

"I meant, you might want to try being a little more sociable to people who will accept it. Here, how about you sit at the table for dinner?" It was a commonly-accepted fact that Lenore never sat at the table. She would sit on the rafters and hang off them to take some food off the plates. Often, she'd drop bones on M'raaj Dar or people who made fun of her.

It surprised everyone, therefore, to see Lenore's seat filled (which was ordinarily kept stubbornly empty),

"You've decided to act like something remotely human, have you, pet ape?" sneered M'raaj Dar. This caused Lenore to snarl and, seeing an argument coming, Vicente hurriedly got Telaendril to go on a needless gossip about her day shopping and the crisis was avoided. Remarkably, the dinner went rather well. Lenore did respond to the questions asked but in a clipped, interview-like manner that offered no opportunity for any further talk,

_Still needs a bit of work..._

Afterwards, he caught her as she was heading for the training room, "You were fine back there. What stopped you from socialising?"

"It's just not a priority of mine." She shrugged, before leaping up and swinging back onto the rafters.

* * *

A/N: Vicente's POV was kinda hard to do. I tried to not make it just like Lucien but I'm not sure I succeeded.


	35. Chapter 34: The Dark Gift

A/N: More unimaginative chapter naming!

**xjoedirtx:** Hope you enjoy it!

**maskedpainter: **Alright, then, you _insane_ person.

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yep, I would too. Dark-Brotherhood-shocking is always fun!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Great to hear!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 34: The Dark Gift**

"Wow, look at that." Antoinetta pointed over Vicente's shoulder. He didn't need to turn. He had already heard the strong heart. Lenore's hooded figure was there, with her back to him and the sound of charcoal on parchment grating on him a little, "She's not having chats with the bats anymore."

There were now a varying amount of names for the times when Lenore would retreat to the rafters. Going from 'testing the beams' to 'chats with the bats'. Now, though, she spent less time there and almost all of her time was spent sketching. If she did anything else, she would do it hurriedly, as though desperate to get back to her work. Though he could not see why she would be so desperate to do this. But, still she did, working away on her sketches like she hadn't a moment to lose,

"What is she doing?" Antoinetta thoughtlessly went up to her and peered over her shoulder. Lenore allowed this. Though, Vicente doubted she even noticed. Once she was drawing, she was off in her own little world and one was lucky if she answered any questions asked during that time, "Hey, Lenore! Nirn to Lenore, hello!" Nothing. She just went on drawing as though nothing happened, "Hey, I'm talking to you, idiot!"

With that, the idiot girl snatched up the drawing to get a good look at it. The reaction was immediate. Of course it was. Polixones was the same; nothing in the world could seperate him from his drawings. Lavinia gave a scream of shock and pounced on Antoinetta like a mountain lion on something that was threatening her cub,

"Hey, hey! Get off! Vicente, do something! She's attacking me!"

"She just wants the drawing back." Vicente sighed, exasperatedly. Of everyone in the Sanctuary, Antoinetta had to have the least common sense and could not adapt to her new sister's habits,

"Yes, I do!" snarled Lenore, now in the process of trying to twist the parchment out of her grip, "Now, give it back or else I'll tear out all your hair and sell it to farmers as hay!"

Thankfully, Antoinetta has the brain in her to give back the drawing and Lenore immediately resumed her seat as though nothing had happened. The silly blonde Breton stared at her before moving off, muttering something about, "Always thought artists were weird."

"Don't let Lucien hear you say that." Vicente reminded her. That shut her up and she hurried away to the training room without a word,

"Sorry about her." It was polite to at least say this even if Lenore wasn't listening. Or, it would seem, she could, for her heartrate quickened in an angry way. He could imagine what she was thinking. Something hateful towards Antoinetta, no doubt. When she was angry, her heartrate would increase more and more as time went by and she wound herself up more. When that happened, it became hard for Vicente to resist the urge to bite.

To try and calm her, he said, "Your father used to sketch a lot as well." That did the trick. Her heart fluttered in a happier and bearable way for Vicente, "He always said it was because he didn't want to forget anything he saw. So, he drew everything he liked to make sure they stayed in his mind. That's what you're doing, is it not?"

Even if it wasn't, she would say it was. Vicente had come to realise that Lenore wanted nothing more than to be exactly like her father. She absolutely admired him, even though it must have been nine or ten years since she had last seen him.

Just then, there was a great clamour of noise from the door and Vicente was distracted by the sound of Teinaava's cursing. Looking up, he saw the Argonian limping in with a puffy eye and some of his scales scraped off, _Oh, for the love of Sithis, what has he done now?_ "Another bar-fight, I take it?"

"That damn Scar-Tail!" He snarled, "He is one word away from me ripping out his throat!"

"What happened?" His twin had finally come out of her office, claws on hips, "I told you not to take what he says seriously. He is only trying to wind you up."

"The things he said about the Night Mother are unforgiveable!"

"He doesn't mean it. And, don't cause stupid arguments with fellow Shadowscales! You remember Dagger-Eye?"

"For the last time, I _didn't_ push her down those steps!"

The sibling argument went on and on and Vicente soon lost interest. Teinaava never got on with any of the fellow Shadowscales except his sister and, even then, their argument were frequent. Teinaava was just an argumentative person. His blood was quick to race and his heart was easily influenced. Though, he could apparently be different when he was at work. Though even Vicente found that hard to believe.

Seeing the time and remembering with a wrench the amount of paperwork he had, Vicente trapsed back to his office to start the arduous task to sifting through the boring right down to the downright pointless. All while trying to maintain the facade that his heart was in it and he actually cared about what the words on the scrolls said.

So, the evening passed with no more incident except Antoinetta's abominable creations that could loosely be called cooking in the evening. No one could really blame Lenore for staying up in the rafters and picking at the edible things that evening. Teinaava even muttered that he would like to join her, which earned him a glowing look from her.

That night, while Vicente was out, he heard a familiar, strong heartbeat intrude into his senses. Leaving his slumbering finished meal, he crept back out and slipped into a tree. He picked out a hunched figure on the rooftop of the Abandoned House. Lenore was there, on the rooftop, on her hands and knees, looking again like a mountain lion scouting for its prey, _She is a very cat-like person._ He found himself thinking again, _I wonder if there's any Khajiit in her blood._

Her eyes were narrowed, becoming mere slits in the moonlight as she stared around the square outside the chapel, where some leftover drunkards were quietly staggering around while the guards were clearing out the taverns. Two Argonians, drunk as slaughterfish, were heading straight for an inn with their intent clear in the male's lecherous manner. Vicente blamed his old age but he found their actions sickening,

"Oh, Scar-Tail, you slimy lizard, you!"

As though someone had flipped a switch, Lenore leapt off the roof without a moment's hesitation, falling a ridiculous distance that would surely sprain an ankle at least. Vicente was ready to hop out of the tree to lend his aid but, remarkably, she stood up, walking with her limp as though it was nothing, _Ignoring pain and not making a loud sound when she's hurt. She must have known how much that would hurt when she jumped, too!_

Polixones had never shown this kind of behaviour; if he was hurt, he would get it healed without delay so he could 'go full out all the time'. He had learned as much as he could about Restoration magic just so he could but Lenore wasn't even acknowledging her injury, even though it really slowed her down, _What kind of silly person does that?_

Nevertheless, Lenore approached the pair and gave the male a tap on the shoulder. It took him a while for his befuddled brain to take in the distraction and even longer to turn round and face her. As soon as he did, Lenore's fist became a blur and hit him square in the jaw, "Oof!" gasped the Argonian, staggering back. Vicente stared at this spontaneous action. He hadn't done anything to her, she had never even met him, and yet, she was acting as though he had done her a personal wrong.

Scar-Tail's partner screamed like Lenore had stabbed him in the throat and ran off into the darkness, "Guards! Guards, help!"

Vicente quickly circled in the shadows as Lenore landed more and more blows on him with demonish speed. He could not have the guards taking her to a cell before he knew how well she could cope with guards. As the guards began to stir from their bar-clearing duties and come for them, Vicente darted out, grabbed Lenore (who had done a good job of giving Scar-Tail a black eye) and dragged her back into the Abandoned House.

She did not like this very much, for she kicked against him, snarling, "What the-Vicente! Get off! What are you-!"

"For the love of the Night Mother, will you quiet down? The guards are on the way!"

When he finally got her back into the Sanctuary, only Ocheeva was up reading a book. She seemed to always take it upon herself to stay up until Vicente had finished his meal. As if he needed someone to worry about him and tell him off when he was out too late. The moment she saw Lenore bruised and beaten, she went berserk,

"Vicente, what have I told you about feeding on our Brothers when they're awake?"

"There is no need to lecture me, woman. It was not I who she attacked."  
"What?"  
Telaendril was roused and, most unwillingly, she consented to help heal Lenore. All the while, Vicente prodded her with questions and tried to get an explanation out of her in vain. She said absolutely nothing, not even gasping in pain when her ankle was handled rather too roughly, _Has she gone into a Silence?_ Vicente wondered, with a stab of dread.

There was no point questioning her since, whether in a Silence or not, she would not answer anything. She just stared mutinously as anyone who questioned her like she was on trial for something. Vicente managed to overhear Ocheeva mutter,

"That crazy little girl is going to get herself in deep trouble one of these days."

* * *

_Lucien_

The Imperial City, though the least favourite place of the Dark Brotherhood, was Lucien's favourite place to entertain his artistic side. A few good supply shops and not many Dark Brothers to interrupt him. One would think, with him being what he was, he would not be averse to stealing what he wanted. They were wrong, of course. He may murder in cold blood but he had some limits. He would not steal like a common beggar. That would make him seem like he needed to rely on other, albeit unknowing, people and that was something he did not want.

So, on that crisp autumn evening, he was picking over his purchases in the Market District, envisioning how he would next use them, _Hmm, red and yellow, of course. Black's a given. I'm always running out of that. Some blue and white added with that for the backdrop._ He had been expressely forbidden by his new model to do any paintings of her that made her look girlish or even feminine. Which is why she had hated the past paintings he'd done of her,

_Valtieri would probably say it was the Harla in her. _He thought, before discarding such notions and continuing to envision his next painting.

He could see her standing on a great clifftop, perhaps with crashing waves beneath her. A white dress spread out in the wind like angel's wings...he always envisioned her with a white dress. He couldn't think of any other colour that wouldn't clash horribly with her hair. Besides, white suited her character or what he saw of her character best. She was a innocent girl but ripe in her youth and ready to make the choices that would shape her life. A fine age to be in the Brotherhood, where she was at that turning point.

And, so, Lucien was lucky that he would witness it and perhaps capture it on his canvas. One so very rarely got that opportunity nowadays. Whoever said criminals were getting younger was a rotten liar. The petty and shameless criminals that acted only on their most base and bestial urges were getting younger, yes, but the refined, sophisticated ones, who strove for a better goal and did not care for crimes, they did not emerge until they were past their prime and too thrown about by life's troubles to enjoy it anymore.

Pulling out his old, dog-eared sketchbook, he cast about for a good sketch subject. He pondered whether to use the statues dotted around the city again. They were such good references despite the fact that they portrayed false gods of ancient religions, twisted over time, as all rumours were as they passed from mouth to mouth. Lucien did not lament the fact that there were no images of the Night Mother or Sithis; that gave him space to express his own impressions and Sithis was not something so base that had to be presented in an image to be understood.

He began sketching the cloud formations that he intended to use in his next painting. There was nothing worse that spending his effort on the subject and forgetting to give time to the scenery. It was like concentrating only on how to kill the victim and not give a thought on how to approach them or escape. Certainly, it was the most important part but the things that accompanied needed just as much attention, or else that exertion would be wasted and the main event ruined.

BOOM!

It was fortunate that Lucien did not have the charcoal at the parchment for he jumped violently at the explosion that shook the ground and sent everyone around him staggering, _What in the name of murder-? _He looked up to see smoke rising from the Prison District and the distant sounds of tramping Legion soldiers, _Well now, this is a fine turn of events._ Lucien thought, interestedly,_ And, very good for us if it puts the Legion out of action for a while._

Intending to find out who did this (so he could send them flowers later), Lucien moved into the back-alleys to make sure no one saw him running the opposite way to them, now transitioning comfortably from artist to assassin. Through the gates he slipped and behind a clump of bushes he hid. Peeking over them, he saw the smoke billowing from the left-hand side of the Prison District,

_That's their store-rooms if I remember correctly. Someone must have set the wine on fire. Cheap wine does burn very fiercely. _He crossed the bridge to the Prison as quickly as a shadow, going unnoticed by the soldiers running around the place, trying to escape the spreading flames and not giving a thought to stopping it, _Fools. What's the point of running from fire that runs rampant?_

Smothering his disapproval for the moment, Lucien circled around the place, covering his nose with his sleeve to try and block out the smell of smoke. He was right, it was coming from the storerooms and the scent of burning alcohol hung on the air, _That'll be what those shallow idiots mourn most, no doubt, the loss of their wine cellar. Still, I can't say I blame them. I would not be at all pleased if someone robbed me of my wine like that._

There was another great explosion, as the wooden shutters above him blasted outwards, sending showers of splinters out on tongues of flame. It made a very pretty picture and an even prettier one since it was the lair of the Legion being destroyed. Just as he wondered whether he should get to a safer place to sketch the destruction, there was a loud shout above him. He didn't really pay attention to it and turned to get to a vantage point.

Whoever it was shouting, it was a very deranged person. For they were not screaming in fear or bellowing orders but whooping in delight, as though they were having the time of their lives, _I knew that the Legion were not fussy with their recruits but I never knew they'd recruit the types who would lose their heads like that at the sight of fire like dumb beasts. Ah well. Those soldiers are close enough to beasts anyway. What's another little step down to them?_

Suddenly, the shout grew louder and, presuming it was someone falling off the battlements, Lucien casually stepped to the side and carried on. There was no point staying to look at the body. He did not like burnt corpses very much. They were too ruined to really appreciate. He didn't particularly like the way the flesh wasted away before its time-

"INCOMING!"

The bright voice from above afforded him only a split second to look up before something heavy landed square on the back of his head. Gasping in shock, he crashed to the ground with whatever hit him sprawled on his back. The bag that held the paints rolled off to the side into a clump of bushes where he was sure he could hear one of the pots being smashed.

Scowling and snarling, he glared round, ready to smash the skull of whoever had wrecked his day. He was met with a big, sharp-teethed grin and orange hair in his face, "Oh, hi, boss! How's tricks?"

It was a moment before Lucien could find something appropriate to say to such a strange greeting, "That's the wrong thing to say."

She blinked, looking thrown, "What am I supposed to say? Aren't I allowed to give my boss a friendly greeting anymore?"

"Well," Lucien managed to roll himself over under her so he was sitting face up on his elbows, "the appropriate response when you've just leapt off a building onto your Speaker is 'I'm sorry, I didn't see you', not 'hi, boss, how's tricks'. And, perhaps, you would care to check if I had been hurt!" He added, as he felt a very definite bruise on his back,

"Oh, whoops." She said, as though she had just realised that she had forgotten to buy milk that morning and nothing as serious as this. The girl didn't even attempt to get off him, "Well, you don't look hurt." She spoke slowly, examining him with narrowed eyes, "Do you feel hurt?"

"Not badly. Now, could you get off me this instant? This is a very uncomfortable position!"

"Really? It's comfortable to me."

Inspiration and audacity hit Lucien at that point. With what he called his 'bedchamber smirk', he grabbed her arms and quickly turned to the side so she was thrown with him. He ended up on top of her, holding her down by the shoulders, "This is a much better position for me."

With a scowl, she shoved him very rudely off without so much as a request for him to move, leaving him to sprawl ungracefully into a particularly sharp gorse bush. Wincing at the stings and renewing his scowl, Lucien picked himself up and was about to berate Lenore for daring to treat her Speaker so roughly when she beat him into speaking,

"Is this yours?"

She was holding up his paint-soaked bag. It had been the green paint that had shattered and the linen was steadily turning emerald at one corner, having already spread over half of it, _My sketchbook is probably ruined too! That girl...!_ Rage welled up inside him but he forced it down to keep his smooth face. Lenore carelessly delved inside it and began picking things out, her fingers becoming stained with green as she did so,

"Don't worry, nothing else is broken." She turned to him with a smile unbefitting of the situation, as always, "The sketchbook's a bit splashed but it's only a few pages. There wasn't anything important there, was there?"

"Nothing that can't be easily replicated." Lucien answered, tartly, taking the ruined book from her, although what he said was not necessarily true. One could never replace a drawing. No two were the same. As they walked away from the flaming building, Lenore suddenly said,

"Don't get so upset. It's only the green paint. You could always mix the yellow and blue. Besides, you don't really need green with your painting."

"I was thinking," Lucien found it difficult to keep his voice level, "of using it on my next painting of you."

"Urgh, don't tell me you're going to do _another_ girly one of me. You know I hate those."

That stung. Lucien had to grit his teeth hard to stop himself snapping at her. He was sorely tempted to give her a lengthy lecture on how every colour was important, even if it was obvious that it was being used. Then again, what did she know? She that was stuck in her primative, colourless sketching and had never picked up a pot of paint in her life. For one so colourful herself, she was incredibly colourblind.

The trip back was silent, since Lucien would not say a word to her. All enjoyment and glee he could have got from the smouldering Prison District was gone for good. For every second of silence, he thought of another bad way to describe her. By the time they got back to Cheydinhal, he had the picture of her as just another dumb model who had no sense for the finer things and just had a few unique features about her. A rough and unrefined result of a Bruma upbringing, just like Telaendril always said. An unpolished gem whose value had long since been lost.

However, like they always did, none of the Sanctuary paid any attention to this. On the contrary, they flocked around her, dying to hear the story of her escape and how she managed to set the stronghold of the Legion on fire,

"What were you doing in the Imperial City?" Antoinetta asked, wanting to hear about how many guards had perished, no doubt,  
Lenore shrugged, displaying her infuriating penchant for nonchalance, "I was dragged in for getting into a fight down the Talos Plaza District."

"Fight? With who?"

"A man who made a joke about the guards in Bruma."

Lucien fought down the urge to snort with scorn. Of course, she would react to something as petty as that, being so common as she was. Telaendril seemed to feel the same way, for she said, "Really, Lenore! You have to learn not to take insults like that so personally!"

"Why, what would you do?" She acted as though that was the only option available, _Little savage..._

"Just walk on by and ignore it."

"Then, how would the man know he was offending me?"

"Alright, alright." Vicente acted the peace-maker, of course, _That aged creature has taken a fancy to her, I hear. Just because of her family, I suppose,_ "In any case, how did you get out of your cell?"

"Oh, I didn't get to the cells. I fought them until they let me go and ran out the rest of the way."

"And, how did that fire start?" Teinaava was starting to look interested and so was Ocheeva,

"Accident, really. I just shot a flare behind me and it missed. I tell you, that cheap wine goes up a treat!" As Lucien slipped out to attend to his duties, he heard Lenore say, "I'll tell you what I told the captain 'if you want to arrest someone by backing them against the wall, don't stand them against the front door!'"

* * *

_Vicente_

The mood towards Lenore had definitely taken a turn for the better since the Legion incident. Though, a more accurate way of putting it was that the feelings of the Sanctuary towards her were becoming inverted. While the others drew closer, Lucien drew away to nurse hatred over some silly and insignificant little thing, _I always thought he was a spoiled brat at heart._ Vicente explained away, carelessly, when he saw Lucien sneaking around under an Invisibility spell to avoid her,

"Really, Lucien," Vicente called, aloud, as he heard the man try to sneak past Lenore, "for shame! You, a grown man and Speaker, skulking around and giving our dear sister the silent treatment after a small insult. Like a child that had its hair pulled!" He laughed thoughtlessly at him but that man deserved it. He was in such a ridiculous rage after all that, even if he sympathesised with whatever quarrel he had with the girl, he would still take his kindness as an insult.

As Lucien sulkily stalked away after being revealed by Telaendril's 'misaimed' Dispel spell, Vicente came beside Lenore, who was casually sketching a pigeon she was watching in the rafters. The bird, however, started at the sight of Vicente and flew away high into the beams. But, Lenore did not take this as hard as Lucien would,

"I've finished, anyway." She showed him the completed sketch,

"Hmm...did you put much effort into this?"  
"Not as much as any of the others." She shrugged, "I don't really like drawing animals. I like drawing people better."

Vicente idly looked through her sketches because, like Lucien, she liked it when people paid attention to her work. Which is why she 'accidently' left her papers out on plain view. Among those papers was a leather-bound book with a ribbon marker down the middle. When he tried to open it, she slammed her hand down upon it,

"Hey! Don't read my journal!"

"Your journal?" Vicente raised his eyebrows, "Isn't this a rather obvious place to keep a journal?"

"It's a sketchbook, too." Again, she acted as though she hadn't done anything wrong, "Lucien made me keep this. He said that I shouldn't forget to make words into art."  
"But, you don't like this?"  
"I hate writing." She moaned, "It takes longer for me to describe something than just drawing it."  
"Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words."

"They're right. And, it's a lot more accurate. Don't you think, Vivi?"

Vicente almost dropped the book, "Vivi?" _She can't mean me, not a chance!_

"I've been making up nicknames for everyone. You're Vivi, Teinaava's Tai, Ocheeva's Eva, Antoinetta's Netta, Telaendril's Tel, Gogron's Gog and Lucien's Lu. Or, Lulu. I can't decide." She said these with such conviction that offered no chance of argument while Vicente tried to stifle his laughter. He could not ever imagine Lucien standing for being called something as cute as Lulu, _Oh, his face would be priceless! Still...Vivi..._It wasn't so bad because everyone else would be getting a nickname but still...

"If you're going to give me a nickname, I suppose I'll just have to give you one. Let's see..." _Now, what sounds more embarrassing than Vivi?_ "...Vini."

She blinked in shock, "Vini?"

"Like your real name." Vicente dropped his voice. Not because anyone was around but he wanted to make sure she knew it was to be a secret, "Or, have you forgot it?"

"No. It's just...that sounds so...cute..."

"So does Vivi or," He snorted, "Lulu."

After they chuckled for a bit, there was a small pause, which gave Vicente time to think of what he'd been wanting to say to her for weeks, "Lenore, I know our time working together is finished but there is something I'd like to ask you."  
"What's that?" She glanced around, looking mildly interested, _This'll shock her. _Vicente cleared his throat, ready to give the speech he had given to all the other Sanctuary members,

"As a vampire, I have the ability to pass on my condition to others as I see fit but I am not the kind that infects people without their permission. Vampires should be made willingly, in my view."

"So..."  
"Will you accept my offer of the Dark Gift and embrace a life of shadow with me?"

He had fully expected and was fully prepared for her to say no, like every other Sanctuary member. He knew that becoming a vampire was not a highly-sought ambition, after all. Therefore, Vicente was incredibly shocked when she said, without a moment's pause, "Yes."

He blinked, "Are you sure? Did you even think about it?"

"Not really."

He opened his mouth to remind her what being a vampire meant but held his tongue, remembering it was he that was asking her and she was the sort that didn't listen to warnings, anyway, "Very well. I will come to you when you sleep and infect you with vampirism. In three days, you will awake an immortal creature of the night as I."  
"When I sleep? Why?" She looked at him as though he'd suggested something a bit strange, though it seemed logical to him. Then again, his and her logic were two very seperate things, _It's the Harla in her,_ "My neck's here now. Come on. Bite me!"

"Ocheeva doesn't like it when I bite Sanctuary members when they're awake."  
"But, I'm willing." Lenore pointed out, as though this wasn't obvious straight away, "She just means attacking people like a wild animal. Besides, even if she didn't mean that, she doesn't have to know. I could even lie on my bed and pretend to be asleep when someone comes in to make it look like I was asleep if you want."

Vicente nodded, approvingly. Lenore was certainly growing up from being a reclusive, half-wild girl to a fully-wild creature full of life and ready to use it, _What a brilliant beast she would make._

* * *

_Janus_

_How dare he? HOW DARE HE WREAK CHAOS IN MY TOWN WHEN I HAVE FORBIDDEN IT? _These furious thoughts pervaded his brain that ought to be looking out for drunks and beggars like he needed to when he was out. The rain was putting him in an even worse mood as his supposedly water-proof coat began getting soaked right through. One would have thought Mercator had deliberately tried to pass off an ordinary cloak as a waterproof one just to irritate him. But, then again, who would be foolish enough to irritate one's employer, let alone if said employer is a vampire?

The sound of his grating laughter reached his ears and he made a beeline for the mansion where it had come from, navigating past the gauntlet of drunks and guards on the way. Somehow, he managed it without being seen. Perhaps it was the constant repetition of the careful treading of the streets that made him naturally able to avoid detection. Not that the otherwise vital thing was important to him at this point.

They already called it the 'Vampire House'. Rosethorn Hall had been rented out a few weeks ago and only now did he bother to find out who had taken it. He was about to barge in and demand what the madman inside was thinking but he remembered his manners just in time and managed to knock without screaming,

"Oh, do come in!" called the voice of Vicente Valtieri with a breathtaking carelessness, as though he was in absolutely no danger of being discovered, _Has that old thing gone senile at last?_

Janus threw open the incredibly unlocked door and opened his mouth to shout what an idiot he was. He closed his mouth abruptly, however, when he saw what was in front of him. A young vampire (he could tell that she was newly made from the length of her nails) in a red dress stood at the foot of the stairs. When she had been mortal, she had been a Dunmer, that was plain. Though her skin had turned a sickly, Orc-ish green and her face was creased with vampirism wrinkles, sapping it of what beauty it may have had.

Her hair, however, had been saved. A strangely bright orange that struck a small chord of memory. Indeed, it struck one with her as well. She gasped and crowed, "It's Mr Fang!"

"Mr Fang?" Valtieri hopped down the steps at that point with a bounce in his step that meant nothing good, "Janus, how splendid to see you! What brings you here on such a fine night?"

"I could ask you the same question," Janus' teeth pulled back in a snarl, betraying his anger for the first time that night, "though I would not call it splendid to see you at all."  
"Mr Fang, that's so rude!" The girl butted in, wagging a finger in such an annoyingly patronising way, _She's obviously Valtieri's friend,_ "Even if you feel that, you don't say it out loud!"

"Quite right, Vini." nodded Valtieri, making what was left of Janus' blood boil, "Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

They were drunk, that was plain to see. Either they had been drinking the blood of the drunkards on the street or something else along with it. Either way, they were far too carefree to be in their right minds. That did not help Janus' temper at all, though, "What possessed the pair of you to come to my city when I have forbid it? You know I cannot have vampire hunters here, asking too many questions!"

"Ah, we don't intend to stay, Janus, never fear." No matter what he did, that damned man never showed any worry or any sign of apology for putting him through such stress, _How he has lived longer than me, I'll never know! He should have been killed long ago for his lack of caution!_ He quickly pulled himself back though, knowing that Valtieri was just trying to wind him up as usual, "I simply wanted to teach Vini the ropes of being a vampire."  
"I'd be glad if you taught me how to look a bit better. I'm hideous!" Vini moaned without restraint while Janus slowly began to process the information before him. That headstrong little runaway he had met outside Skingrad had, by some terrible misfortune, come across the morally-lacking Valtieri and had been charmed into becoming one of their dark brethern. Valtieri prattled on for a while about how bad at telling the difference between the blood of different races she was while Janus frowned at her for her decision,

_She mustn't have thought it through. No one who says yes to this kind of thing has ever thought it through. Just like Rona..._His wife had only ever become what she was because her husband was going to become a vampire and what a bad decision that was.

Vini was just as nonchalant as Valtieri about her vampirism, which made Janus' heart sink, _This'll all end in tears, I just know it._

* * *

_Lucien_

He had been childish, he would admit that. It was a relatively minor thing she had done and easily fixed. Besides, she had done better than most to escape the Prison District, let alone in such a dramatic fashion. He'd just let his emotions and personal enjoyments get in the way of reality. It was very unprofessional and he hoped the news of his behaviour had not spread too far around the Black Hand.

All of which he told himself as he strode down the path to Cheydinhal. It was threatening rain, which Lucien both hated and loved. On the one hand, no one was outside during the rain and thus he could move more freely without running into anyone. On the other hand, it soaked his clothes and made it difficult to accomplish his duties as an assassin. Not to mention that awful hissing noise it made.

Not that they were really on his mind at the moment. Now, he was thinking about the perfect picture to put Lenore into. It wasn't girlish so he knew she would like it as well. As he walked, the clear picture built in his mind like the picture of a victim's house before the murder. He'd decided to take a more mystical route with drawing her, perhaps painting many Ayleid crystals surrounding her to get a good light effect. She would look like an Ayleid queen,

_Ah, they do say absence makes a heart grow fonder. Even if it's spent most of the time supposedly hating that person. _Lucien quickly checked his ponytail (and his breath, just for good measure) before answering the door as usual. The Sanctuary was quiet except for the creaking of the Dark Guardian stalking in the shadows. It was night and everyone was probably asleep, _Ah, silence. Still, I can't stand around here, enjoying it. I have a model to apologise to,_

"Where's Lenore?" He addressed the Dark Guardian. Never breaking its stride, it pointed down the passage towards Valtieri's shadowed quarters, "Thank you." It was always good to be polite even to things that couldn't appretiate it. No doubt Lenore was down there, discussing a new contract or she'd just come back from one, _I ought to have come out a bit earlier; I might have caught her when we crossed paths._

He knocked once and pulled open the door, "Lenore, there is something-" His voice stuck in his throat. He felt like he was in one of the Harla Silences Valtieri told him about.

Valtieri, that shameless carnal creature of vermin, had Lenore in a lecherous embrace, kissing her shoulder hungrily. And, Lenore! What a change had overcome her! All girlish innocence had gone from her aspect. Every bit of unspoiled loveliness was torn away, replaced with deformed and ruined flesh. The only thing that had been saved from this disaster was her hair. The only thing he had that allowed him to recognise that mangled corpse of a thing.

The pair looked around and didn't even have the decency to leap apart, embarrassed. If creatures like them could blush at all, "Hey! No spectators!" Even her voice was wrong, distorted with maturity that was not meant to be there. Her dress had been pushed off her shoulders so far that she was almost exposed like a common whore. She seemed to realise this and didn't even bother to cover herself, "And, no peeking, Lulu!"  
_Lulu..._That was another strike that almost knocked him backwards. Addressing him like he was some kind of petulant child, indeed!

"Well, Lucien?" The fiend spoke at last. Lucien glared at him, _You did this, didn't you?_ He thought, furiously, _You made her into this!_ "Isn't there something you interrupted us for?"

"No." The words came out without his consent. What he wanted to say could take weeks to get it all out and he'd wake the whole Sanctuary. Something was blocking his mind from his mouth, fortunately for them, and instead he simply forced out, "Nothing that can't wait until you are...finished."

The door slammed shut in front of him and that sound was succeeded by his stomping footsteps as he strode furiously back the way he came, _How dare he...how dare he wreck her with vampirism like this! How dare he turn her into something like that and ruin all her beauty! How dare she accept this and encourage his staining of her! _The blame of who was responsible for this heinous crime was pushed from Valtieri to her every few minutes in his mind as he marched back to Fort Farragut.

* * *

A/N: Lucien's such a drama queen, isn't he? I tried to give him a bit of an artistic temprement since he's a painter but, then again, wouldn't every artist hate anyone who smashed their paints and ruined their sketchbook?


	36. Chapter 35: Purifying the Innocent

A/N: Nice timely update this time. And, that chapter title sounds so biblical, doesn't it? And, woohoo! A good haul of reviews! Thank you so much!

**: **I just had to include that nickname somewhere!

**maskedpainter: **Glad you found Lucien's drama-queen attitude plausible.

**Lunatic Pandora1: **I think Lenore's a more a person to do things to just to experience them at that point in her life. Yes, I can imagine her leaping nude into nettles just to see what it felt like, actually.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Ah, it's better to let you speculate as to why she did it.

**Shadow Pegasus: **I would get this done quicker but I have my other Oblivion fanfiction, Burgundy and Black, and I have to give both my stories equal attention otherwise one might get neglected.

**Miss Lieress: **Glad to hear it!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 35: Purifying the Innocent**

_Lucien_

There was no room for regret. What needed to be done had to be done, or so Lucien told himself as he sat in the darkness of Fort Farragut. He had attempted to distract himself with his painting but even that failed him. He needed a good model but he certainly would not ask her. No, not now she had that withered old bat to keep her company, withering herself as she did so.

_Just another failed artist_, he told himself, _Another artist who sticks too closely to what she knows already to want to learn anything else. There's nothing you can do for them. Let them just stew in their own backward thinking. All she is a model. A soulless unique face. No, not pretty. Definitely not pretty. As plain and ordinary as can be, it just has different colours than normal._

So, he had absolutely no problem with what had to be done that day. Even less so when he heard a scuffling around in the rafters like something was up there,

"Come down, girl. You're not impressing anyone."

There was a small _whoosh_ and flump, _I hope that was a high fall and you broke your ankle._ He would have said this out loud but it wasn't at all professional. That was all this was; a professional meeting to give her an order. There was no need to feel anything but cold nothingness. Nothing like missing her company or wishing he could have her old, unruined self back so he could paint her again.

So, he stood and surpressed a shudder at the sight of Lenore's face, made older than its time by vampirism, _It must of been forced on her. She would never agree to sully herself like this. No true woman would._ Still, the crime was done and she seemed unregretful of being involved in it. Her nonchalant, "Hi, boss. What's the story?" made his blood boil, _How can she be so calm when she has suffered such a tragedy?_ She ought to be regretful, cover her face so no evidence of it could be seen like she was in mourning, not showing it off for all to see like an interesting tattoo,

"Not a very pleasing story." He answered, leaving only a split second pause for all his hateful thoughts to get organised, "No doubt, you would have heard the rumours of a traitor in the Dark Brotherhood's midst, killing our Brothers," How much he was loath to say 'our', "and throwing the Black Hand into doubt and confusion."

"Oh, dear." _Is that all you can say, you unnatural thing?_ Everything she said was another crime to add to the list, so wound up in hatred as he was. She didn't even sound like she meant it, "So, what do I have to do, boss? Keep an eye out for anything weird? Scout around? I can hear people's heartbeats now so I can-"

"Shut up, girl. Shut up." He had no time to waste with pleasantries, especially on such a common girl like her. She was too prettily dressed for someone like her too. Such clothes were wasted on her. Especially that ruby fang-shaped pendent hanging from a gold chain around her neck. That belonged on a Countess and certainly not someone like her. He was tempted to ask her where she stole it from but, again, it was unprofessional, "This has gone beyond that. The traitor has become a blight on the Black Hand, tainting it like a canker."

She nodded, though Lucien thought she was just trying to look like she understood when she didn't. How could such a dumb little thing understand these kind of ideas, after all? Still, he went on, "The taint has been traced to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary."

She blinked, _Well, at least she's taken in the fact that the Cheydinhal Sanctuary is her home. Saves me from having to explain it,_ "What does that mean, boss?"  
"That the traitor is within the Sanctuary and has tainted it beyond repair. Therefore, you have been chosen to perform the rite of _Purification._" Though her dimwitted brain probably couldn't understand, his dark tone made it clear that the meaning was not a good one. Her face fell, though it did nothing to ease the hideousness of it.

_Here's the best part. I need to deliver this perfectly!_ He lowered his voice, darkened his tone and made it completely devoid of feeling, "Everyone in the Sanctuary...must die."

She blinked once. Twice. Then, utter horror painted itself all over her face. Her demon eyes widened, her mouth opened, showing indecent fangs, and her hands raised as though to defend herself, only demonstrating how horribly-overgrown the nails were, "What?" She gasped, "B-but, boss...that's stupid! How-"

"Silence, girl!" He snarled. His face was nowhere near as beastly as hers and yet she flinched, drawing back at the sight of him in anger. The sight brought him enormous satisfaction, "The Black Hand has ordered this and you cannot question it." He lost his angry tone and adopted a dark voice, knowing it would scare her, "All must die. Antoinetta Marie, Telaendril, Gogron gro-Bolmog, Teinaava, Ocheeva, M'raaj Dar and..." He gave a dramatic pause, just to prepare her, "...Vicente Valtieri."

He took extra long to pronounce the name, just to see her heart break. It worked gloriously, _Oh, where is my sketchbook when I need it?_ He thought, delightedly, at the look on her face. She staggered backwards as the full force of it began to hit her. Her mouth opened and closed in quick succession, as though she was trying to form words.

He expected her to swoon, scream or something dramatic. That would just make this scene complete, _Come on._ He thought to her, _Come on, girl. Give me a good, dramatic ending before the curtain falls and we go to the next scene._ But, still, she just kept mouthing like a fish out of water. A fish caught on a line and couldn't escape its fate.

Finally getting bored, Lucien grasped her by the arm and pulled her away to the door. All the way through the cavernous passages, she didn't make a single noise. When he reached the door, he gave her a hard shove that made her topple and fall flat on her face, _Stay there. I can't see that face of yours from there,_ "Now, go to it. I will give you a week to complete this task. If you do not or attempt deserting, I will kill them for you and then slaughter every man, woman and child who defends you. Then, whether you like it or not, you shall serve me as my Silencer."

The door gave a very satisfying bang as the performance ended, _Now, just a week to wait before it's done. Either way, that monster who wrecked her will die and what is left of her shall serve me._

* * *

_Janus_

The knock at the door was not welcome. He did not like being roused at such an early hour of the day. Scowling at the sunlight filtering through the curtains, he dimly registered that it was Mercator on the other side of the door. Pushing aside thoughts that he had saved whatever task he had until Janus was asleep just to spite him,

"Letter for you, sir." At least, he had the sense to make his visit as brief as possible. After all, who would deliberately wake a vampire and stay around? He unfurled the new parchment and held it to the candlelight. It was very hastily scrawled, in a spidery hand that made no two etching of the same letter exactly the same:

_Count Hassildor_

_ I have been told that you know where to find the cure to vampirism. I need the cure before the end of the week, it's really important that I get it. I'm downstairs right now and I'm writing this because I can't talk. Please, Count, this is really important to me. If you can give me any information, I will be very grateful._

_ Vini_

Janus blinked in surprise at the name but he really wasn't surprised. No doubt that the poor, unthinking girl had become tired of vampirism quickly and wanted a quick way out of it. He was sorely tempted to just tell her to go away and find it herself. After all, it was her who caused such a riot in his town that Rosethorn Hall was still called the 'Vampire House' to this day and she only had herself to blame for acting so hastily.

But, his good nature that had transcended his transformation into a monster pervaded his thoughts and told him not to. The memory of the innocent little girl who had run away from home on a reckless whim and ran into him in the night splashed across his mind, making it unbearable to turn her away so cruelly. By the sound of it, she was really desperate to be rid of her affliction and, if she didn't get the cure soon, she would stop feeding then...

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it but he certainly didn't want the girl to become a corpse in all but name like Rona. Speaking of Rona...if the girl was successful, this just might be the opportunity to give her peace he'd been looking for. Besides, Vini was the only person who had ever come forward and said she was interested in finding it. If he didn't take this opportunity, who knew how long he would have to wait for the next time?

So, he threw on a dressing gown, tried to not look tired and strode downstairs. Sure enough, she was waiting but what a different girl she was! She was not carefree or nonchalant but nervous and worried, her tattered and dirtied cloak wrapped tightly around her, as though thinking something was going to leap out on her at any moment. Which was rather irrational since she was the creature who leapt out at people in the dark.

Mercator gave her a sneering look that she, thankfully, did not see and Janus cleared his throat,

"Hello, Miss Vini."

She nodded in greating, her mouth tightly shut, and Janus remembered how she said she couldn't speak, _Perhaps her tongue was cut out,_

"No doubt you're wondering why I would want the cure for vampirism along with you, since I am so well-adapted to my new lifestyle." He gave Mercator a significant look that he wanted to be alone. Even he took the hint and slipped out of the door, "You see, the cure is not for myself. It is for my wife, Rona." She looked up, interested and really taking in what he was saying, "More than fifty years ago, she was afflicted with vampirism around the same time I was. While I came to embrace the changes in myself, she did not."  
She could already see where this story was going, as evidenced by the ends of her mouth turning down slightly,

"She hated what she had become and refused to feed to keep herself healthy. She eventually slipped into a coma, from which she has not awoken." He was glad that he had managed to tell her the story without his voice cracking. He wondered vaguely what her story was. Had she broken up with Valtieri? Or was she just sick of eternal life and wanted to be mortal again? Of course, he couldn't ask her so he put such questions to the back of his mind, "My trusted servants have cared for her all this time but I wish for her to at last find peace."

Vini nodded, her mouth downturning even more. It was clear that she felt for him and his poor wife. At least, she had gained more of a knowledge of how people felt since she was a child,

"I have researched what I can but acquiring the cure is beyond my grasp. I cannot risk drawing too much attention to myself."

This time, she nodded with her head bowed slightly, as though in apology. This, Janus found rather pleasing. She was realising what a danger she had brought on him by acting so wild with Valtieri. Still, he acted as though he didn't notice,

"So, I would ask you to take up the search on my behalf. If you are successful, I will reward you in what small way I can." Though, he felt that a reward was not really necessary, "What little I have discovered points to the Witches of Glenmoril. In the past, they have been capable of creating a cure. There may be one left. I have unconfirmed reports of a woman seen near the Corbolo river who fits the description of these witches. If you are successful in finding the cure, please report to my steward."

With a final nod, Vini stood and hurried out of the room before Janus had time to bid her farewell. As he went back to bed, he wondered about her again, thinking hard as to why she would want the cure apart from the obvious reasons. She seemed nervous, like she was running from something. Perhaps those dratted vampire hunters were chasing her. It was bound to happen if she kept drawing so much attention to herself. It must be a very desperate and powerful vampire hunter if that was the case, otherwise Valtieri would have got rid of it.

And, there was another thing. Why did she come out on her own? Surely, a vampire that was not even two years into her immortality should not be out on her own. For all his carelessness, Valtieri would never allow that. Valtieri hadn't even crossed his mind until now and, as he settled back into bed, he got the distinct feeling that something had happened, was happening or was about to happen to the old vampire. Whatever was happening, it was nothing good.

It was clear that the girl had pulled out all the stops to do the task. In little more than three days, she had returned. It was clear she had not been feeding since her face was whiter and more withered than before. When he had last saw her, she was desperate to keep drinking to try and maintain some semblance of beauty in her face. However, she looked more like Valtieri than anything human.

When she returned, she brought the Glenmoril witch, Melisande, with her. So, the three of them went down to Rona's chamber. This was the part he had been trying to prepare himself for. He'd taken fifty years to do it and he couldn't help but think that he was still not ready after all this time. When the sight of his wasted wife, dressed in the clothes she had been dressed in by the servants and her hair done in a style that did not suit lying on a bed all day. The only thing missing was a coffin.

Yes, that was why she was so nicely done. So, the servants didn't have to waste too much time when it was time to bury her. It was a horrible thought but Janus knew it to be true. Vini kept to the shadows, her hood pulled to the extreme over her head so it was a miracle that she could walk down the dark passage without running into the walls.

As she pushed herself against the wall, Melisande strode over to the bed where his dear wife lay with all the detached business attitude of a healer at work, not at all bothered by the sight of a vampire beyond all help before her. Though he could not see her face, Janus listened hard for a heartbeat and, to his great surprise, found one. He supposed that she must have taken her cure before coming here. It was jittery, uneven and nervous. Clearly, she was just as unprepared for this moment as he was.

All too soon, Melisande was doing the spell that would wake Rona long enough for her to drink the potion. There was no point asking her to stop. If he did, he would never give her the command to start. As they said, it was now or never.

The spell was finished in a heartbeat, though he was told it was meant to be very complicated. Melisande completed her craft as though it was nothing, like a true Glenmoril witch. In contrast, it seemed to take an agonising age for Rona to wake up. Another painful wait that seemed like another fifty years of anguish before she spoke,

"Janus? Oh, why did you wake me? Please, just let me sleep." She sounded upset, distressed by her re-entrance into reality,

"It's alright, darling. Drink this. It'll make you...better." He couldn't bear to say it. Until that moment, he had scorned those who lied to dying loved ones but now, he could see that it was just too painful for the ones who were telling the lies to give away the truth. And, surely, seeing the dying person realise with despair and horror that their days were numbered would only make it ten times as worse.

So, Rona drank from the bottle that contained both cure and poison. The redness of her eyes was already fading, taking Rona's life slowly with it. He worried for a moment that she might be in pain but there was no sign of it on her. Instead, she turned her head to the side and spotted Vini in the shadows, "Come into the light."

Vini of course knew that there was little time left so she obeyed, pushing back her hood. Now, it was clear that Vini was the runaway Janus had met almost ten years ago. Her healthy purple skin was smoothed and young and, though her eyes were more shadowed and her cheeks were colourless, she was clearly mortal. Her orange hair caught the candle light as it came flowing over her shoulders.

Rona's face lit up at the sight, "What a pretty girl you are. You must be a Harla." That was the last thing she said. Her life faded but, instead of the dreaded coma, it was genuine. Real, irreversable _death_. Trying to distract himself from his own grief, he looked to Vini. Her eyes were wide in shock, as though she hadn't expected this would happen.

He couldn't really blame her. In his mind, the horrible image of the myth that all vampires convulsed with agony before disappearing into ashes was lurking and he was very grateful that it wasn't the case in reality.

Vini must have fled the place afterwards because, when he looked back, she was gone. Not just hiding in the shadows but gone. Melisande accepted his invition to stay for dinner though, saying she had not had a dinner in company for years. Janus was glad to have someone to talk to, since he did not like the idea of eating dinner alone that night.

Though Janus' condition stopped him from needing food as such, it felt to just have an evening meal every once in a while. Just to cling to the fact that he had been once human and keep the things he needed to know as a Count in his mind. Entertaining guests was one of them.

Though the loss of Rona weighed heavily on him, he kept his back straight and his voice even. A remarkable thing, one would say, but fifty years of waiting for her death made a part of him glad that she was finally gone, that the wait was finally over. Only a part of him, though, and certainly not a dominant one. When the obligatory she-was-a-wonderful-person speech was out of the way, the conversation turned to Janus' mild interest in how the cure was made.

Melisande went on in a lengthy but respectful way of how the process was achieved. From why only Argonian blood would do to how hard Bloodgrass was to find, "Yet, this girl managed to find it very quickly."

"Yes, I was quite surprised she came back so quickly." Janus nodded, idly, "Though, she seemed very desperate to get the cure before the end of the week if I remember correctly." It was safe to talk about her, Janus found, since she wasn't so directly connected to Rona,

"She certainly acted like it. I open the door three days ago and there she is, ready to collapse in the porch. But, she wouldn't take any of my offers to let her rest. I had to force her to sit down in the end. Never seen anyone so desperate to get something done before. Was she chased by a hunter?"

"I've no idea. I never asked."  
"Is she a mute? She never talked to me and just told me what she wanted by writing it down."  
"I've heard her speak before but that was over a year ago. Something could have changed since then."

"Ah," Melisande suddenly realised something. Her gasp, as well as the fluctuating heartbeat, told him that she had probably just remembered something, "Your wife said something about her being a Harla."

It was the first time the words 'your wife' came up for almost an hour. Janus managed to push down the lump in his throat but just barely, "What is a Harla?"  
"An family of Dunmer nobles. They're famous for being one of the only ones with orange hair. I can see why your wife thought that she was one of them. They're also famous for their Silences."  
"Silences?"  
"Yes, it's passed down in the family. Sometimes, it's called the Harla Curse. When one of them is very upset, they become unable to speak. Physically unable to speak, not just a deliberate silence."  
"For how long?" Janus asked, surprised,

"Depends on the mer. It could be a few days to even a whole year. Some of them can tell when it's going to stop and some can't. Either way, it's astonishing that she's even alive. The last I heard, the whole family had been wiped out. Though, with their reputation, it's not surprising they managed to smuggle one out of Morrowind."

* * *

_Vicente_

"Is everything ready?"

He didn't need to ask. It was clear everything was absolutely in place and ready. The banner was up, the table was set and everyone was in place, _Excellent_, Vicente fought back the urge to grin. A reflex, really, since he normally sent people running with his grin, _Everything is going to be perfect! All we need is the honoured guest!_

The wine was poured and set out at every seat except hers. He knew that she didn't like wine and she had a preference for ale so all was well,

"She's here!" called Antoinetta, bouncing down the ladder, "And, she's not a vampire anymore!"

Though the others were surprised, Vicente was not disappointed. Though she had vampirish tendencies, she made a rather poor one. She always bashed her head on the lid in the evening when she was waking up in a coffin, she could never tell the difference between the blood of different races and, one time out of three, she would wake the person she was feeding off while biting them. A very bad scenario to find yourself in, for both victim and vampire.

So, he hurried up the passage without a bit of sadness. There she was, lurking at the doorway, as though scared to go any further, _Then again, who can blame her?_ She jumped with fright like a cat on a hot tin roof when she saw him coming,

"Glad to have you back, Vini." There was more than one meaning to that statement, "Come on. You'll want to be here."

There was still dread on her face and her heart was going absolutely mad. To Vicente, it sounded like someone was beating an enormous drum to an impossibly fast beat. It was the strongest and loudest he had ever heard from her. She had never been so afraid since she came into the Brotherhood. She didn't have any of her blind Harla bravado to cling to now. Lachance had made sure that she could see no way out and there was no way she would be willing to fight her Speaker, _Lachance, you will regret this. I won't be able to make you regret it but she will when she recovers._ He entertained himself for a while thinking about the Polixones in her coming and how she would beat him to a pulp.

They reached the black door and Vicente gave the entry words. Poor Vini's heart was going even more insane as they got closer,

"_Surprise!_"

Vini's heart skipped beats as she leapt back in surprise. Vicente smiled at the sight of everyone in the Sanctuary present and correct at the table. Even M'raaj Dar was there, having finally realised the error of his ways and decided to be civil to her, _Of all times..._

"Why didn't you tell us you were becoming a Silencer?" Telaendril gently chastised,

"Couldn't happen to anyone more deserving!" Gogron chortled, reaching for his goblet,

"Ah, ah, ah!" Vicente quickly intervened, _Not yet. It has to be everyone at once, _"Not yet, Gogron. We have to make a toast."

Vini was even worse than ever, her heart pounding fit to burst. He knew full well that there was no way to consol her without giving everything away so he simply raised his glass, "To Vini, who we will miss when she is a Silencer."  
"To Vini!" This was echoed around the table and everyone drank deeply, except for Vini who just sat there, staring around as though she had walked into a completely different world. Vicente tasted the poison in the drink but his vampirism saved him from being affected. A very annoying inconvenience.

It took maybe three seconds before everyone realised what was happening. When Antoinetta clutched at her throat and Gogron gave his empty goblet a sniff, strangled panic began to take hold of them. Ocheeva glared at the wine and then to Vicente, who nodded. It was obvious; he had bought and poured out the wine. Nothing there could be connected to her.

First Telaendril. Being such a small thing, the poison quickly got through her veins and made her collapse. Then, M'raaj Dar, his tail and whiskers erect as he fell sideways onto the floor. Antoinetta tried and failed to reach for her dagger. Gogron fell beside Telaendril. Ocheeva and Teinaava were the last, gasping as they collapsed, "Why...? Why, brother...?"

Vicente just watched them with the same detachment he had learned throughout the many generations of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. This was just another generation gone, albeit all in one fell swoop. And, now it was time to go with them. With the amount of years he had seen, one would think Vicente was desperate to cling onto life. But, he knew when it was time to bring it to a good stop.

Lavinia and he were now the only ones standing. The food was untouched, the candles on the table still burned, the cutlery was abandoned where they had been left and even the chairs were still standing neatly around the table. Only the wine goblets were displaced and nothing really was severely out of place to suggest that such carnage had just taken place. Apart from the bodies sprawled on the floor.

Vicente picked up the glass wine pitcher and began pouring it into a vase full of tiger lilies set on the table. Lavinia watched the stream of red liquid with a keen eye, her heart calming just a little. When the pitcher was empty, he held it up to the light, where dark bits was still sticking to the bottom and some drawing out in a thinning line towards the rim, trying to escape with the wine,

"It's poison made from nightshade." He explained, putting it down and walking towards her, "I know you're confused but hear me. As much as I hate to steal someone else's contract, I knew that this one was definitely beyond your capabilities."  
Her heart skipped more beats at the realisation. Of course, she would understand immediately. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to break her Silence and ask 'why',

"There is no denying the will of the Black Hand, Lavinia." She started at the sound of the first time her real name was used in nearly three years, "I have been here long enough to know that, however foolish and self-destructive it may be, their orders must be upheld. Purification is a terrible ritual. A cowardly and brainless idea that has never led to good. I have only heard of it performed once before in my lifetime and the person who did it took their own life soon after. They could not bear the thought of having killed their brethern."

He looked straight into her eyes, that were becoming wet with tears. She tried to look away but he caught her chin and made her look back,

"You have no such guilt to bear. The crime of destroying our Sanctuary is mine and it is my soul that they will haunt, not yours."

She shook her head and clutched her hair, backing into a wall. Vicente followed and put his arms around her, taking in the strong smell of her blood for the first time in over a year. As he did, he lowered his hand to her belt and found her elven shortsword. Drawing it out, he took its position, point placed over his heart. In an instant, her hand was upon the hilt, trying to wrench it away. She was now crying in earnest and, if she could speak, she would be pleading him not to do what he intended to.

Of course, he would not let something like that stop him,

"Spill some blood for me, dear sister."

* * *

A/N: (sob) Vicente...


	37. Chapter 36: Horse Sense

A/N: I had a bit of trouble with this one until I decided to give Shadowmere some much-needed love. It's been a while since I've written about that lovely blood-thirsty horse.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **If you thought that was sad, you ain't seen nothing yet!

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yep, the Dark Brotherhood would be very useful in that kind of situation!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 36: Horse Sense**

The silence that greeted him as he descended down the cellar was as wonderful as a welcome party. He had been hoping for the smell of rotten bodies but he didn't suspect that the murders had been done quickly. The silly thing probably thought that delaying it as long as she could would help. A primative thought that would suit her bestial mind.

The door let him in as always, like nothing had ever changed in the last week. How wonderfully fitting; the Black Hand had washed their hands of this like he had. Why wouldn't the Sanctuary also be perfectly willing to let go of its residents? He wondered if how fresh their bodies would be and, if they were, the exciting prospect of being able to capture their death moments on paper put a spring in his step. He so rarely got the opportunity to draw fresh corpses nowadays. All the contracts he got required him to get out as soon as they were dead. Which was absolutely infuriating to him.

The Sanctuary was so unusually quiet that his hopes began to get higher. Maybe the foul thing had killed herself after doing it, as seemed the poetic thing to do. Then again, something on her level did not have any capacity to be poetic. Perhaps she was even feeding on the people she had so doted on when she was mortal like the depraved thing she was. Yes, he could just see himself having to drag herself away from devouring Antoinetta. He wouldn't mind if it was Valtieri, though.

However, he was disappointed when he saw no signs of death in the hall. Only a long table set for eight with a clean cloth and spoiled food set out for a party long past. The rat, Schemer, was picking at the neglected dishes and even he was having reservations. The centrepiece consisted of a cracked vase with withering tiger lilies drooping from the rim. This, he felt, was a good image. Almost symbolic of how withered and unlovely she was.

A wine pitcher sat beside the vase, emptied with only some dried red staining it along with little dark particles along with it. On closer examination, he found them to be what looked like poisonous powder made from nightshade, _Poison? That is not the killing method of a beast. That is not right._ The picture was wrong now. A piece of symbolism didn't fit in his mind.

And, the fact that there were no bodies around didn't fit either. They were meant to be strewn around the place like the scene of a blood battle or slumped peacefully and poetically on their chairs as though they were sleeping. Thrown by this bizarre, unsymbolic 'death scene', he tried looking around for any sign of death. Since, apart from the poison, there wasn't any at all.

This didn't make a groundbreaking painting at all. Unless it was one of those postmodern ones that were supposed to show great drama by portraying little. Lucien hated those. In his mind, it was just a poor excuse for not making an effort. What was even worse was that some of the critics believed them. Simple-minded fools...

It was only when he came to the sleeping quarters did he begin to see some signs that the task was done. Seven black coffins laid in a circle in the centre of the room, _Like the old witches circles. Yes, yes, that seems like a good sight. Witches' sacrifices...but that thing isn't clever enough to know about that. _He tried to open the one closest to him but it was locked tightly. He tried the other one and all the others but none would open. They were sealed with locks around the rims and a glue made from flour and water (he guessed this from the spilled bag of flour on the table close by that it was homemade). His only option was to break open the lids but that was wrong. That would spoil the image,

_Only seven. So, where is their murderess?_ He began looking around aimlessly, though not really caring. The picture was already complete. Her presence would just ruin it. So, he wondered idly around the Sanctuary, revelling in the silence around the place. It was so thick in the air that he felt that he could practically paint it. He could paint it dark black with hints of silver and red. Perhaps a little amber to portray the torches that had almost burned out.

As he wondered down into the depths and into Valtieri's quarters, everything was still infuriatingly normal. The vampire was always well-organised and not a scrap of parchment was out of place. Scowling, Lucien began to riffle through them. Not so much out of curiousity but because he knew it annoyed Valtieri when things were out of place.

At last, he found something that was a bit different. That signalled that all was not well. A scroll sealed with wax imprinted with the Black Hand's symbol and addressed to him in Valtieri's hand, _The last request that will never be fulfilled? Or a mocking letter that boasts of how he stole and ruined her?_ Eagerly, he slit it open and unfurled it. Valtieri's letter was not strongly worded but held his way of formal chastising,

_Lucien Lachance,_

_I have known you ever since you came into the Dark Brotherhood and know of your artistic temprement. Whether willingly or not, you have hurt those around you with your single-minded obsession. Not in a bad way, just enough to make them think they couldn't approach you. Until now, I have put up with it, saying that you were young and your head was too full of ideas to have any room for concern about your fellow Sanctuary mates. I accepted it as part of your personality._

_All your life, you have acted as though you are above us. Like you are the only person in a world full of subjects and models for you to obsessively paint and portray in your little world of coloured liquid spread on canvas. I would like to remind you that the real world is not pictures to hang on the wall and spend your whole life on. Humans are flesh, not paper. They can move, act and feel on their own. They are not controlled by your paintbrush._

_It is not an assassin's place to think about other people's feelings, as you know, but work and home are two different places. As a Speaker, it is your duty to connect with your Sanctuary. Any Speaker that does not builds their Sanctuary on distrust and fear, leading it to fall apart. I know; I have seen nearly ten generations of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary come and go._

_But, enough of this. I must return to my point. Today, I followed Lavinia when she was summoned to Fort Farragut. My instincts told me that something was amiss and my instincts never fail me. When she emerged, she was not the merry girl still clinging to the innocence she possessed before she became an assassin. She was silent and terrified, with no more Harla bravado to cling to and facing for the first time the terrible crimes she had committed._

_I know she is searching for the cure to vampirism. I have sent Ocheeva to watch her progress. I am not surprised or saddened that she wishes to end her immortality; it is clear to me that she didn't think through her decision properly and she does not make a good vampire anyway. Though I know how few and far between the people who can make the cure are, I know she will have a better chance at succeeding than most. She is single-minded, just like you, but, unlike you, she uses this for more honourable motives. The only person she will hurt is herself by either pushing herself beyond her limits or getting into things over her head. Her body may fail her but her mind never will._

_I know what order you gave her to make her so changed. I heard you say the word 'purification' and, even if I did not know what it meant, I heard you pronounce the sentence of death over us. I know just as much as you that the word of the Black Hand, no matter how foolhardy, is our law. I do not deny it, nor will I attempt to defy it. In fact, I hereby exercise my right to take the contract into my hands. Lavinia will never do this. Asking her to do this is like asking her to chop off her own hands and break her backbone in two. Therefore, I shall take the lives of our Sanctuary mates and take my own life when that is done. Her conscience shall be clear._

_It was a very cruel thing to lay this task upon her, when you could have easily done so. Yes, you would have had to kill her too but I know that she would have gladly died along with us. She does not fear death. None of her clan have ever done so and she is no exception. Not that you would realise this. You do not know her character. You only know her face. Her physical form, the only part of her you were ever interested in. Let me tell you about what she is and not simply what she looks like, since you do not have the capacity to see it by yourself._

_Vini (our nickname for her in response to giving us all nicknames) wishes everything to remain the same. She loves things to remain constant and cannot abide change. When she draws, it is not your trick of trying to make everything beautiful and artistic to give the artist the delusion that they have some kind of godlike power. It is a way of letting things into her world, a psychological way of accepting and connecting to things. I know this because she only ever began socialising with us when she had drawn all of us and the Sanctuary. Without drawing, the world around her and all the people in it are as distant as stars. Which is why, I suppose, she is able to disconnect with her victims when she kills them._

_And, when she has accepted those people into her world, it is permanent. There is no way she can seperate from them. She would never harm them and, if it came to it, she would protect them to the death. She is more human than any I have met in the Brotherhood and I have grown very fond of her, as you know. If you could perhaps lift your head out of the pallete and look at her with the eyes of a normal person, perhaps you would grow fond of her too. Not as a model or something to be beautified on canvas but as a person and the only living remnant of our proud, innocent sanctuary._

_Vicente Valtieri, Executioner of the Dark Brotherhood._

_P.S: I asked her before she came to you for her orders which one of us she drew first. She told me that the first person she drew since entering the Dark Brotherhood was YOU._

It was as though all the air had left his lungs in a rush. It had never been addressed like that since he was a mere Murderer. And, now, he felt just as idiotic as one. If anyone else had said it, anyone at all, even someone who had lived longer than Vicente and had ten times the wisdom, he would have simply ignored it and called them mundane. But, Vicente always had a talent for getting through to even the most stubbon and bone-headed individuals. He was even that way in death.

At once, the sketchbook in his bag felt like it was weighed ten times as much. He had the strangest of urges to tear it up. That was the thing that had encouraged his obsession and made him do this. The Black Hand's word was absolute but he was part of that Black Hand. He could have objected and would have been successful but he had chosen to remain silent,

_Why?_ He strained to think back to any logical reason that would have influenced him. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything solid and reasonable for him to betray his own Sanctuary. All he could remember was an irrational hatred of Vicente and wish to have him gone from his life. But, the price was far too high,_ Why didn't I see it? What madness claimed me to ignore the lives of the people I am meant to watch over?_

He read the letter over and over, the words hitting him harder with every repetition. Especially the last few sentences, _'...only living remnant of our proud, innocent sanctuary.' _Just as his reasoning began to pale and seem completely meaningless, so did the reasoning of the Listener and the other Speakers who had supported the idea of Purification.

Of course, there was nothing to even suggest that any guilt could be placed upon anyone there. It was all speculation and an unconfirmed piece of information that was years old and never acted on. A cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought that, if that old news was true, the traitor could have even infiltrated the Black Hand already. Perhaps it was even he that had planted the seed of doubt in everyone's mind and was intending to do it to everyone else's Sanctuary. This could have even been what he was planning right from the start.

As these wild, terrifying possibilities occurred to him, a new horror struck him. He still did not know where Lavinia was, whether she was still in the Sanctuary or in the wilderness, still looking for the cure. Where she was completely vulnerable to the traitor's attacks. With this in mind, he dropped the letter that had knocked him back to reality and cast a detect life spell.

Nothing. There was nothing living here except Schemer and a few bats in the rafters that she so loved to frequent. He wondered if they were missing her. If they were wondering where their young, bright-haired visitor had gone. Then, he reminded himself that bats were blind and therefore didn't know she was bright-haired.

He walked briskly from the Sanctuary, trying not to let himself panic. He would not panic. Not he. Not Lucien Lachance. Even in the face of everything badly misguided thought, every horrendous act against his own that he had committed, he must not panic. He needed to atone for his acts but collapsing in an emotional heap would not help. Nor was it befitting of him.

He only ran when he was within sight of the gate. Shadowmere, displaying again her uncanny ability to sense when her master was distressed, leaped over the paddock fence to great him and he was barely in the saddle before she set off at a gallop. Shadowmere was a wonderful horse; she was as fast as a flying arrow and the extra weight of a rider never slowed her down. In addition to that, she did not have the mind of a dumb animal. She could read her master's moods and seem to always know what he wanted to go without him telling her.

The great ability she had that he was now relying on was being able to track anyone with the precision of a Legion bloodhound. He wasn't even sure how she did it but it was better to accept than to question. He was sure that Shadowmere was taking him to Lavinia. She knew Lavinia's scent well enough since the two got along so well since the day they had laid eyes on each other. He remembered with a little stab of guilt how Lavinia would ride behind him to Fort Farragut when she was modelling for him and how she had once modelled for him while sitting on Shadowmere.

The air was getting colder as their journey continued, as well as slanting uphill. That was the one disadvantage of riding with Shadowmere when she was directing on her own; it was very easy to lose track of time and extremely difficult to pinpoint exactly where they were. He hazarded a guess that they were moving north. Perhaps up to Bruma,

_Ah, yes, maybe we are going to Bruma. Perhaps Lavinia has lost faith in the Brotherhood and is endevouring to return to Bruma._ That sounded like a bad idea right from the start. He remembered what she had said about her being a wanted criminal there. She was not easily mistaken for someone else and, if she was recognised-he could not stand the thought of her being locked away and he squeezed Shadowmere's flanks with his knees a little.

Though Shadowmere was annoyed by her rider's impatience, she got the message and the blur of colour around him became even more rushed. Their surrounding were beginning to rapidly lose colour, as the air rapidly lost heat. He guessed they were approaching Bruma and began to wish he was wearing a warmer cloak. It was getting closer to winter, after all, and, if the air was chill in Cheydinhal, Bruma would be even worse. Lucien may prefer the cold but he did have his limits. Or, more accurately, his treacherous body did.

On, they raced. The kicked-up snow slapping his legs told him that they were off the track. That was a good sign; it meant that she was at least not in Bruma. Shadowmere preferred the paths since there was little to impend her legs so, if she went off them, it was always because she absolutely had to, _Where does she have a connection to, though? Is it a childhood haunt or...?_ It hit him harder than the wind in his face.

When Shadowmere halted (so suddenly that she nearly skidded on the ice beneath her feet), he knew where he was at once. The cave entrance looked very much the same, except a few empty cheap wine bottles lying around. The idea that she may have turned to alcohol was disgusting, yet the smell of wine lingered too much for them to be old bottles.

With a horrible feeling settling in his stomach that, in his negligence, something terrible had happened to her, he threw open the door and marched down the passage. He did not even bother with night-eye, just a simple detect life spell. Night-eye spells took vital time and concentration. Now, despite himself, he was losing control and beginning to panic. His excuse was that, by trying not to think of everything in an artistic sense, he was totally out of his depth and rushing because he was trying too hard to get away from his usual leisurely and thoughtful pace.

The passage was as dark and claustrophobic as he remembered, with many pebbles to betray his position if he knocked them too hard. He could tell straight away that the cave had recently been cleared because of the bloodstains and the lingering smell of burning flesh that stung his eyes. He could hear the rats scurry around in the shadow, something one would never hear over the noisy, drunken bandits that normally inhabited these places,

_Which way now?_ He wondered, glancing about, _It was so easy to find her before._ After a bit of brainless wondering as to why his memory had failed him, he realised that it had been Vicente who had led the way to her with his vampire-enhanced senses. He had just followed him. Cursing mentally, he tried the first path. No good; he found a dead end at once. She was too far away for his detect life spell to find so she had to be deeper in the caverns.

After two more wrong turns, coming across three more dead ends and wondering multiple times whether his sense of direction was always this bad, a glow of purple finally appeared. Racing against his fading detect life spell, he hurried through the shadows and, at last, he found her. He did not see her at first, only a large, familiar-looking pile of rubble where the ceiling had caved in.

She was sitting with her back to the wall, her face hidden in her knees. She was not crying, she was probably beyond that, but just sitting on the cold stone, not moving an inch. He had gone about ten loud steps and was nearly before her before she raised her head. Her hair fell all over it and she had to brush the orange locks aside just to get a good view of him.

Again, all the air seemed to rush out of him. The one before him was not a wretch wrecked and ruined by vampirism but Lavinia, his Lavinia, unspoiled and pure, nothing marring that amethyst skin of hers, _How could you?_ snarled a voice like Vicente, _How could you have let your pathetic little painting hobby control you to hurt her? Her crime was nothing but saying yes to something she didn't even think through!_

"Lavinia?" He pulled back his hood a little, just in case she couldn't see who it was. Her ruby eyes (now a prettily-bloody colour instead of the fiery red of the vampire) widened at the sight of him but did not back away. Lucien was very grateful for this; he would sure that the last of his defences against the despair that crept into his mind would crumble if she did, "Are you alright?" An idiotic question but what else could he say?

In response, she grasped the wall behind her for support and gradually levered herself up on shaky, bruised legs. He wondered how she had managed to get here without a horse and on foot without fainting. She did look very pale, though she was putting on a very brave face. He had heard from a conversation he had with Ocheeva once that she would never admit she needed help, even if it was glaringly obvious that she did.

Thus, Lucien approached her without a word and managed to whisk her up into his arms with a mumbled, "Come on. Your body is at its limit. Do not pretend you can move by yourself."

She was painfully light, weighing no more than a child, despite the fact that she was so close to adulthood. Or, perhaps that was because she was so thin that it was unhealthy (_How long did she make herself go without food?_). She slumped in the saddle of Shadowmere, reluctantly admitting her weakness and allowing Lucien to hold her up from behind. Shadowmere, seemingly realising how fragile her new rider was, did not even break into a gallop.

Lavinia managed to finally pass out just as Cheydinhal was in sight. He was almost going to take her back to the Sanctuary but Shadowmere stubbornly took them up the road to Fort Farragut. Lucien still had no idea what he was going to do with her. None of the paintings he had seen ever showed him what to do if he came across a starving, exhausted girl in the wilderness and, if he did, he didn't remember what they depicted. Probably because, in any normal situation, his idea of helping them would be stabbing them in the throat to help them on their way to the Void. He wasn't used to helping people in an ordinary, caring sense and was at a total loss.

Just as he was thinking of maybe taking her to the Mages' Guild, Shadowmere intervened. She nuzzled Lavinia's head at first, making it flop like a caught fish. Then, she began to nibble at her fringe. At first, Lucien retreated and snapped, "She's not for eating! She's not even dead!" Shadowmere persisted, though, leading Lucien into a dance in which she would move forward and he backed off in return.

At last, she got fed up. Stamping her hoof, she exhaled loudly through her nose and glared at him with her bloody eyes. Eyes that were so like Lavinia's, he suddenly realised. Her stare was even more powerful than any human one and seemed to turn him to stone just by being on the receiving end of it. This gave her time to move towards them and resume whatever she was trying to do to Lavinia.

It suddenly became apparent to Lucien that she wasn't trying to eat Lavinia at all. Her actions were too gentle for that. She was nuzzling, breathing hard against her skin, tugging her hair carefully with her teeth and even licking her face a little. Like a mare trying to revive her foal.

All this did the trick. After about ten minutes of Shadowmere's care, her eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened. If Lucien had been listening to his artistic side, he would have thought how this was so darkly symbolic of the Dark Brotherhood. The demon reviving the lost soul to give it the devil's work but he was beyond that. Now wasn't the time to give thought to such things.

At the sight of the black nose in front of her face, Lavinia smiled, "Shadowmere..." The horse gave a small grunt of satisfaction at the sight of her revived patient and then, using her head, she gave Lucien a hard push towards the door, her message clear,

"Alright, alright, I'm going." He snapped, as he shoved open the door. Once they were inside, Lavinia was smiling,

"Sometimes, I think your horse knows more than people do."

"I think so, too." He nodded, taking her past the creaking Dark Guardians into the depth of his home.

* * *

It took Lavinia over a week to fully recover. It might have taken a shorter time if it had just been starvation that affected her. Her feet were in such a terrible state that she would barely walk ten feet without them hurting,

"How _can_ you let yourself get like this?" He constantly asked. Lucien would have expected this kind of thing of Nords and hardened mountaineers who couldn't even be hurt by this sort of thing, not a skinny girl of seventeen,

"I just ignore it." She shrugged, with her usual nonchalance in the face of astonishing things, "It's just something that gets in the way but ignoring it doesn't make it get in the way so much."

Lucien, not really knowing if it was safe to talk about it, stepped around the subject of the Purification, which was now a completely idiotic decision in his mind. He didn't want to think about it, since a stab of guilt and mortification would always go through him at the thought, and if that was what he felt, Sithis knew what she was going through. She talked only about present-day things, nothing about her thoughts or anything in the past. Lucien had a feeling that he shouldn't press her for any information, either. If she broke down, he would have no idea what to do.

After that week had passed, Lucien was tending to Shadowmere in her special stable behind the fort and was about to leave when his cloak caught on something. Nearly toppling over (and almost bumping into one of the well-nibbled corpses that hung from the ceiling), he turned round to glare at whatever had done it. To his fury, he saw Shadowmere holding down the hem of his cloak with her hoof and not accidentally either. That horse never did anything accidentally.

He tried to pull it away but she stubbornly kept a hold of it,

"What _is _it?" He snapped, at last, "Have you finished your meat already?" She shook her head and then, waved it at a small niche in the wall where he stored any spare bits of meat. It was empty at the moment, "I'll restock tomorrow. Now, let me go." She actually exhaled noisily and shook her head, as though exasperated by his idiocy. If she had the ability to speak, she probably would have been saying something along the lines of 'Sithis, give me patience'.

She began to shove him towards the niche, giving him no opportunity to think what on earth that animal thought she was doing, "Hey, what are you doing-stop it-get off me!" Her next trick was to move in front of the niche to prevent him escaping. Now very frustrated, Lucien gave her flanks a hefty slap and snapped, "Get out of the way, beast, or I'll make you!"

Again, he found himself on the end of her glare in retaliation, making him freeze in place. It made him keep quiet long enough for him to hear the door to the stable open and someone come in. The niche in which he was now hiding was barely big enough for him to stand up in. He couldn't risk poking his head around the door and had to rely on sound alone.

Crouching down into the straw, he listened as Shadowmere turned her attention from him to the intruder. It was pointless to try and draw his dagger, for he knew Shadowmere was quite capable of dealing with anyone who stumbled into her home. However, she did not make any gesture of violence towards whoever was out there. This became clear when a voice spoke into the silent stable,

"It's me again, Shadowmere."

_Lavinia?_ He frowned, puzzled, _What's she doing here? And, she said 'again'. What business does she have with my horse?_

Shadowmere greeted her with a low snort as Lucien sat in forced hiding, bewildered. He had the feeling that she wanted him to see what Lavinia would do. So, he carefully settled down without stirring the prickly straw too much to listen. The rustling of straw outside his hiding place stopped, signalling that Lavinia had settled somewhere too,

"I had a really bad dream." She began talking in a level, conversational tone that didn't suggest that she was upset at all, "My father came to me and began shouting at me. He kept telling me that I was a disgrace and that I was bringing shame on him. Him and my whole family. Then, he slapped me and I woke up." Lucien jolted a little. She had never said anything about bad dreams, _Then again, when does she ever admit she's upset by something?_

"I know I shouldn't get so upset over dreams. It's all in my head, after all. It's stupid to get worked up over them. That's why I don't say a word to Lucien about them. He'd just say the same thing."

Lucien really felt like he was eavesdropping now and listened more closely, not knowing whether to reveal himself or continue hiding,

"It really scares me, though." She went on, "I haven't seen my father in over ten years, not even in my dreams. So, why should I dream about him now? Am I really starting to lose it?"  
Shadowmere gave another grunt,

"Yeah, I'm talking to a horse. Definitely losing it. Hey! Don't bite my hair!"

Another grunt,

"Father never hit me or even shouted at me when I was with him. If he did, I would remember. It just doesn't make sense."

The grunt Shadowmere gave was lower this time,

"I keep telling myself that but it didn't stop me being scared. It's so weird. I've been able to ignore things that scare me or hurt me before. I just tell myself it'll be over soon and I get myself through that way."

There was a silence, broken only by an impatient snort from Shadowmere,

She only began speaking again when Lucien thought it might be a good time to show himself, "Father was my world when he was alive. He's the only person out of my family I remember. I only know my mother, my brother and my sister from pictures. He was the only person in my little world. It was just the two of us, running from assassins, with him driving the caravan and me hiding in the back. He had to hide me to try and save me from the assassins so I never got to meet new people until we met Burd.

"But, I was happy like that. It was all I knew so I just went with it. I thought we would always be like this, even when I was grown-up and he was an old man. I know he was trying to give me a better life by giving me to Burd but I didn't want that. I would have stuck by my father even if we were going through the Plains of Oblivion together.

"I never thought of Burd as a parent. I always called him 'the friend of my parents who was looking after me'. I don't suppose he really thought of me as his daughter, either. I really gave him hell when I was living with him. I like people who look like him, who talk like him. It's like I haven't really accepted he's dead, even though I know he is. Of course, I do. Like I'm still waiting for him to come back and I'm looking for him. I guess that's why I decided to trust Lucien because he has dark hair like him, if that makes any sense. It was stupid, I know. Look where that's got me."

Lucien flinched at the sound of his name, making her pause at the noise he'd foolishly made. She brushed it off, however, and continued,

"But, it's not just love a daughter has for her father that I feel. He was my god and my idol. I don't just want to be with him. I want to _be_ him. I want to be him so much that I wish I didn't have orange hair that won't cooperate, that I wasn't a girl and my name wasn't Lavinia. I wish I had long black hair that I can tie back in a pigtail. I wish I was a man and that my name was Polixones.

"I've tried my whole life ever since he died to be like him. I tried to talk like him, act like him and think like him. He would have never let the Purification to happen. He would have stood up to Lucien and told him just how stupid that order was. He would have taken on the whole Black Hand if he had to. And, I just went silent and let him walk all over me. All I could do was mope instead of trying to find a way out of it. Father never cried. He never sat around moping and feeling sorry for himself. He would always stand up for his views and never back down until things were put right.

"I guess that's why I'm dreaming about him. He'd be ashamed of me if he saw me now."

A peak around the corner told Lucien that Lavinia was in exactly the position he had imagined her in; her legs drawn up to her chest and leaning back into Shadowmere, who was sitting behind her and nudging her like a sick foal as she cried,

"Why can't I be like him?"

* * *

A/N: (sob) I always get teary when I write about Polixones...


	38. Chapter 37: Leaving the Dark

A/N: Yes, I know this took longer than it should have considering I'm on holiday now but this was a very difficult chapter to write. I'm not good at romance!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Shadowmere is such a nice demon-horse, isn't she?

**Lunatic Pandora1: **I think I might have already incorporated some of your ideas from your last review in my story.

**DyntoraDJ: **Glad you think that! Y'know, the hardest character to describe is the main character, in my opinion!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 37: Leaving the Dark**

The pile of letters from the Listener in the waste-paper basket was getting higher. It had become an unconscious thing for him to just throw whatever rubbish Ungolim threw at him. At first, it was because he was too preoccupied with Lavinia, then it just became instinct. As soon as he saw Ungolim's handwriting, the letter was crumpled and throw away.

As the weeks went by, the letters became more frequent and the couriers more insistant. It made Lucien want to move out of Fort Farragut just to be away from them, _For Sithis' sake, what does that idiot want with me?_ He wondered, though he didn't think to open any of them. It probably wasn't anything important; just another meeting or some silly request for advice. Or else, an update on the traitor.

As if he cared about anything the traitor could do now. He had lost his entire Sanctuary and he had only Lavinia left. Unless the traitor was foolish enough to attack Fort Farragut, Lucien needn't worry about a thing. Meanwhile, all Lucien did was do idle sketches that he would never turn into paintings and perhaps have the odd ride with Lavinia.

He really had his hands full with her in the first week she stayed at Fort Farragut. On the night after he had heard her talking to Shadowmere, she had run away and Lucien had only found her when he had dared to go down into the Cheydinhal Sanctuary in the early hours of the morning. She was found sound asleep on Vicente's sleeping slab with tearstreaks down her face. Since she was so deep in sleep that she didn't respond to any of his attempts to rouse her (not a good trait for an assassin), he'd had to carry her out of the Sanctuary and was very grateful no one was around to see this.

From then on, he had forbidden her to go near the Sanctuary. It seemed to be bad for her health.

He had asked her if she would be so kind as to do the cooking while she was here. He found out very quickly that this was not a good idea. She had a liking for very rare meat with too-spicy sauce and sickly-sweet desserts so he decided to go back to making the meals after the third night of downing water by the gallon to cool his tongue.

She was unapologetic as ever, scoffing that all Imperials 'overcook their food' and that 'there's no such thing of something that's too sweet'. He would have taken offence at this but, remembering the letter he had the good sense to retrieve from the Sanctuary after Lavinia was safe, he would always tell himself to stop being so sensitive. It didn't befit a child of Sithis to throw tantrums over the slightest thing, after all.

The best times they spent together were rides with Shadowmere. Lavinia took to horse-riding like a slaughterfish to water. It was remarkable considering that she had been banned for learning anything of the sort back in Bruma. Or, perhaps, that was what made her more keen to practise. Shadowmere seemed to like her new rider even more than her current master, never biting or trying to throw her off, as she had done when Lucien had rode her for the first few times. Lucien kept thinking that, along with the fact that Lavinia felt more comfortable in the horse's company than she ever had in human company, they were two kindred spirits.

It almost made him a little jealous, to see her getting along so well with Shadowmere. No longer did Lavinia jokingly call him 'boss'. He would have been grateful for her to call him 'Lulu', as awful as that nickname was. Their relationship had now become stiflingly formal, the sort he would have longed for before the Purification, _What you were seeking always appears when you don't want it anymore!_ He thought, bitterly, as she sneaked out of her bed again, probably to talk to Shadowmere again.

It was only while they were riding did she drop the formalities. Maybe she felt more comfortable around the horse or maybe it was because Shadowmere snorted irritably whenever she heard Lavinia call Lucien 'Speaker Lachance'. At first, he would lead her by the reins (something Shadowmere didn't like one bit) around the countryside, making idle conversation he never thought he would make. Then, after the first week, he decided to sit in the saddle behind her. She put up with this and then started to like it. Or, so Lucien hoped she did. Lavinia was becoming a very hard person to read.

The horse, however, seemed absolutely adament that he should be with her all the time, taking every opportunity to shunt him towards her with her head and only allowing them to leave if they were together, never one at a time. Lavinia even joked once, "Shadowmere won't be happy until we're married!"

Although she was joking, that little statement stuck in Lucien's mind. Marriage...that wasn't something assassins often talked about. If they did marry, it was often as a cover, since assassins were considered to be night-dwelling loners and certainly not family people. He had even heard of a Speaker who had married and then murdered his wife in an assassin-like way to make himself less suspicious. Those who did marry were few and far between anyway.

Ungolim had even passed a decree that all members of the Black Hand had to be strictly celibate. He had insisted that it was the word of the Night Mother, that they should give their affections to no one but her. Lucien knew better though; it had come straight from Ungolim for reasons that were probably foolish and pointless. The longer he thought about it, the more stupid it seemed. He had just accepted it at first...then violated the decree in a brothel straightaway. Nothing had happened so why abide by it? That was before he met Lavinia, of course.

While Lavinia hurried down the hill to get Shadowmere's bridle back from the repair shop, Lucien turned to his horse, who was trying to nudge him after her, "Are you really that desperate to get us both together?"

The horse snorted,

"Hmm...does she want to be with me, though?"

He was beginning to see why Lavinia was so comfortable talking to Shadowmere. Despite how scary she might look, she was easier to talk to than most people. There was less fear of how she'd react. All she could do was snort and sometimes give him the odd playful bite when she thought he was being silly. Which she did at that moment,

"Ouch! Shadowmere, are you insane? She would rather marry you than me!"

The horse shook her head and exhaled through her nose in annoyance at her master's ignorance,

"There's no use shaking your head at me. She loved Vicente and how could she love the man who ordered his death? Not even a romance novelist would write about that sort of thing!"

The horse nudged him slightly,

"Yes, I'll admit that...well, I do like her. She's a very...magnetic kind of individual." How was it that his artistic flair had deserted him when he most needed it? He had always scorned those who wasted their talents on professing their passions for their beloveds. He believed more in action than in words and, now, these views wavered.

Certainly, Lavinia didn't like using words but would she respond to his actions? Or, would it be too soon? _Ah, why did I mock lovesick fools who didn't know how to impress their ladies? I've become one myself!_

Shadowmere gave him another sharp nudge and, looking up, he saw Lavinia returning, carrying Shadowmere's bridle in her arms. When he saw her, he felt a jolt of nerves. He tried pushing them down, telling himself that it would do no good to become a nervous idiot in front of her, _Why on earth did I never feel this before?_ Then again, his preoccupation in the past had been to get the girl to pose for him and not to try and make her like him. That had just happened on its own in the past.

Lavinia hung up the bridle, saying that the shop was particularly empty today and thus was back early. She was just going to leave when Shadowmere, with a grunt, blocked the door. Blinking in surprise, she tried to get by but the horse stubbornly refused to let either of them out. Frowning, she began shoving Shadowmere's hindquarters,

"Come on, Shadowmere! We've already had a ride!"

Again, the horse shook her head and exhaled exasperatedly. Lucien put a hand on her shoulder, not wanting the horse to get angry, "Leave her. She won't budge."

"What's wrong with her? You _did_ remember to fill her trough, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. She just doesn't want us to move just yet."  
She clearly thought he was insane just by the look on her face. Instead, she turned back to the horse, "Shadowmere, do you really want us to stay here all night?" The horse nodded her head, making Lavinia scowl, "Don't be stupid. We can't sleep here." With another rebellious glare, she leapt up onto a crate and, in a second, she was in the rafters, "Ha! I'd like to see you try and get me from here!"

Shadowmere watched the girl as she began to thoughtlessly tear away poorly-nailed planks from the roof, letting in a very cold draught, and disappeared out of it. Without a moment's hesitation, she began to chase her escapee but not without a glare at her other prisoner to tell him not to move. Knowing better than to provoke his already annoyed stead, Lucien instead crossed to the window and peered out. He spotted the black horse moving swiftly through the trees and then, kicking one of the trunks.

Her actions soon became apparant when, with a loud cry of shock, Lavinia came crashing through the branches from a distance that would surely break a bone. Shadowmere, however, was not worried and she soon had the girl by the scruff of the neck, dragging her by the teeth like a cat carrying a wayward kitten. Lavinia was screaming furiously at the horse in a way that he would have never thought he'd hear her do,

"YOU STUPID ANIMAL! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT? WHY THE HELL DID YOU LUCIEN HAVE TO PICK YOU? YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY INSANE!"

She was dumped unceremoniously on the straw-strewn floor and the guard resumed its post at the doorway. Unperturbed, Lavinia made to leap up again but Lucien quickly stopped her. If she continued on this meaningless attempt to escape, she would surely break every bone in her body,

"Can't you talk some sense into it?"

"She has her own mind, Lavinia. If she wants something, she will not allow anyone to talk her out of it."

He then noticed that her right arm was hanging limply by her side. With a little stab of panic, he took hold of it, making her give a concealed wince of pain. Of course, she would never have admitted that her arm was broken. It was fortunate that he noticed when he did or he would never have known. Sure enough, as he probed the limb with his thumb, he could feel a bone snapped in her lower arm,

"How can you not feel that?" He asked, incredulously,

"I do. I just don't show it." She snapped, shortly. This was starting out badly. Lavinia was injured and now she was angry at him. What was Shadowmere thinking?

"Well, that is rather a stupid thing to do. If you don't show pain, how on earth is anyone going to know you're hurt?"

"Nobody needs to know." She did not take the invitation to sit down as he began to search around for the bandages he used on Shadowmere on the rare occasion she was hurt. Shadowmere didn't like people tending to her injuries either, _The more I think of it, the more those two have in common. _He thought, as he finally found them. It wasn't the best thing but it would do. He knew just as little about Restoration as she did, after all,

"You don't know how to heal yourself." He stated, as he began to bind her unwilling arm with a splint of wood she had thrown down in her escape attempt, "So, how on earth do you expect it to mend without proper help?"

"Don't nag me." She snapped, looking away, "It would have healed on its own."

"It would take months if left by itself! Not to mention, with you, it's more likely to get worse."

She scowled, unwilling to admit that he was right and casting around for a good comeback. Shaking his head, Lucien got back to his haphazard attempts to bind the arm. Lavinia was not cooperative; she complained about splinters and that the binding was too tight. Lucien ignored her. Splinters and tight bandages would be the least of her worries if that arm got any worse. By the time he was finished, they were both in a very bad mood,

"I don't know why you had to take it on yourself to do that." She scowled, flopping down on the same crate she had used to try and escape, "I could have done better."

"You weren't going to, though! Oh, to Oblivion with it!" He threw up his arms in frustration, "It's no use talking to you. Shadowmere, get out of the way now. It's pointless. She won't listen!"

The horse made no move,

"Don't make me get out the brand!"

She gave him a terrifying glare which clearly said, 'do it and you die'. He hadn't really meant it and he had never done it before. It was just a way of telling her that he was getting fed up of her actions. Still, she would not move an inch,

"Oh, for-" Then, Lavinia reached back and pulled out something from the long package on her back that she had brought up with her when she came back with the horse's bridle. Out of the paper came a long ebony claymore, sharp and deadily-looking, "Shadowmere, are you going to move or am I going to have to cut your head off and shove your body away into a ditch?"

"No!" Lucien shouted, shocked at this sudden violence coming from her. Still, there was no real threat. She was only holding it with one hand and couldn't even lift the heavy thing. She probably couldn't even lift it with both her hands, let alone one. If she wasn't careful, she would dislocate her arm and he had no idea what to do then, "Woman, do I have to tie you up as well or are you going to behave?"

"Don't you talk about tying me up, Lucien Lachance, or I'll take your head off as well!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Want to try me?"

"Don't you-"

CRACK

That did it. As soon as she tried to lift the heavy thing, her arm dropped down heart-stoppingly fast and stayed limp. The claymore fell to the ground with a loud clatter, soon followed by its foolish wielder. Her stupidity made him want to scream in exasperation. How could she do things that she knew would do nothing but hurt her? Did she even realise what caused pain and what didn't?

"There!" He snapped, hands on hips, "I hope you're satisfied! Now, _both _your arms are useless! Sithis knows I can't help you even if I wanted to so you can't do anything but sit there."

She didn't say a thing. He was tempted to give her a good kick just to hammer home how idiotic she was, _Women, they know nothing! They don't even know what's good for them! _He soon got bored of waiting for her to respond and he sat down on the straw himself. Spotting the dropped claymore, he picked it up and examined it.

There was nothing really unremarkable about it. Or, at least, that's what he thought before he noticed what was carved on the hilt. The letters were rather roughly drawn and had obviously not been done by a professional. Still, it was legible and the name sent the feeling of icy water cascading into his stomach.

_Vicente_

He then realised that there was something else on her back inside the paper wrappings. Something about the same size, _Surely not another claymore. Her back would have broken!_ Though, sure enough, as he delved into the brown paper, he found another hilt. Astonished, he drew it out and found it to be a lighter, elven claymore that would better suit her.

When she didn't react, he examined it. This had something carved into the hilt too in the same haphazard, messy kind of way. He felt the same shock he had just a moment ago when he read the name inscribed,

_Lucien_

"Lavinia?" He looked up, to see her on her knees with her head hung like she had been since her arm dislocated, "What is this?"

Silence, _Oh, no. Has she gone into one of those Silences Vicente told me about?_ He was about to ask again when she raised her head slightly, her eyes barely visible through orange strands, "I was going to give them to the both of you. That was the plan before you gave me the Purification order. I just forgot about them when you did." Her voice was steady and low, with a distinct tone of being defeated, "I can't give them now."

"Well," He said, trying to think of the most reasonable thing to say without seeming like an idiot, "I suppose I might as well accept my claymore now. It would be silly to carry around a sword with someone else's name on."

"I wanted to carry around Vicente's, actually." Her voice was still steady, though Lucien could tell by the way her hands trembled that she was not as calm as she pretended to be, "Just as a...as a..."

"Memento." Lucien finished off, since she obviously had trouble saying the word, "Alright, then. Just don't try swinging it with one hand next time you use it."

She nodded so slightly that it could have been a trick of the light. They sat in awkward, stretching silence, neither of them really knowing what to say. Shadowmere stayed at her guardpost, not looking likely to move for days. Lucien tried desperately to find something that wouldn't sound like something a milksop son of a count would say, perhaps looking to where his princess lover was on a balcony.

That did not suit him. That was not befitting of an assassin. He was not a spoiled prissy boy who could produce those sort of words without embarrassing himself. He was a hardened, supposedly-cold assassin. So, why weren't there any love proclaimation suitable for someone like him? It was so easy to draw this kind of thing, of course, but when it came to portraying them in real life...He didn't really like being the subject of a scene. It was much better to be the creator.

Lucien realised he had stayed silent too long when he noticed something shiny on her hand. At first, he thought there was a leak in the roof but, of course, it wasn't raining. Then, the more unnerving prospect occurred to him. And, it turned out to be true. She was indeed crying,

"Lavinia?" He dropped his voice, not certain of what he should do and starting to panic that he might do something wrong. Like he was on a contract he had not fully prepared for (it had been a long time since that had happened). He was treading on creaky floorboards towards a very light sleeper. He had no idea whether the floorboard he stepped on next would creak or would stay silent. The chances of him getting to his goal were a million to one. But, he had to try. There was no backing out now.

He swallowed, trying to mentally piece together a good strategy. He had very little choice and what he came up with were things that would never work. It seemed that he would have to swallow his pride and act like a milksop, after all. Slowly, thinking that this wouldn't work all the time, he raised an arm and put it around her trembling shoulders,

"Lavinia...ah, this is going to sound very odd coming from me, I know but...it pains me to see you upset."

She looked up again, her eyes shining behind that veil of hair with tears...and with anger, "It didn't look like it a few weeks ago."  
"I know. Lavinia, I admit to being very...tempremental sometimes. I overreact over the smallest of things. It's unprofessional to say the least. I'm jealous and treat the world like I'm its painter to twist and reproduce it on canvas as I please."

"You could just say you're a selfish, art-obsessed lunatic."

"Yes, that too." He nodded, knowing it was not wise to be offended by this kind of statement. Any loss in concentration and he could end up stepping on a floorboard that creaked so loud that it roused the whole household, "What I mean to say is that my attitudes towards things can change very quickly but not my overall opinion of them. I may be annoyed and...exasperated," He looked pointedly at her arms, "by some of your whims but you are...a very special kind of person to me. Your kind only comes once in a lifetime."

She had dropped her gaze once more, "They say that about my family."

"I, ah, didn't know your family, unfortunately, so I don't know how much you have in common with them. I never saw much importance in family, actually."

She glanced up sharply, as thought what he had said contradicted every law of sense there was (and, to her, it probably was),

"The only real bond we have with them is in a few shared physical appearances. Some people say that our personalities are the same as our parents but that just comes from upbringing. We can deviate if we want. There's nothing to stop us."

This was really touching nerves, he could tell. The way she was glaring at him and flinching at the idea that personality was not inherited, "What if..." Her voice was tense, "...we did not want to deviate?"

"Neither of our parents' are gods." He was getting dangerously close to revealing what he had heard. The floorboards were becoming more likely to be squeaky now, "They were mere men and mer. They weren't perfect. Sithis knows mine weren't. And," He suddenly added on a brilliant streak of information, "we shouldn't try to be like them."

Her eyes flashed in shock at this idea, which was probably as outlandish as the idea of two-headed Argonians,

"Well, if you do," He reasoned, "you'll just make all the mistakes they did. If everyone tried to be like their parents, it would be a very boring world indeed. Just think of it, the same thing playing on a loop for generation after generation."

She looked away, looking like she was thinking it over. He didn't know much about Lavinia's family but he did know that her father must have died in an awful way. Something she probably wouldn't want to happen to herself,

"Lucien," She asked, tentatively, "what happened to your parents?"  
"If you don't ask me, I won't ask you." Lucien said at once. He did not like to talk about it and talking about Lavinia's family would be playing a very risky game indeed. Even more risky than talking about the Purification, "What I can say is that my father was a fool and my mother even more so."

Of course, she would never say this kind of thing about her own parents. Instead, she said, "Did you come from an important family?"

"Not really. But, I do think those who do come from important families are rather foolish." Again, he hit a nerve and, this time, she made no secret of how it was offending her. Her cheeks coloured for the first time since the Purification and she looked ready to start shouting. He had stepped on a creaky floorboard and the victim was stirring, threatening to wake, "I mean, they are the example of what I was saying earlier. They just play the same thing on a loop for generations, fearing and unwilling to change. The worst case scenario, really."

This got her thinking, he could tell. He could almost see the brushes in her mind working at the canvas, trying to paint a picture that made sense to her,

"And, you know why they don't want to change?" Again, he felt like he was getting close to another potentially squeaky floorboard. The victim had fallen asleep again but not for long, "It's because they're scared of 'disgracing the family name'." Another creaky floorboard hit. Her eyes flashed once more but he managed to get his words out before she could get hers out, "No such thing, Lavinia. No such thing. If you're the next heir to the family, you can take it anywhere you please. You don't have to stay the same just for the sake of a few dead relatives."

This, he had been directing right at her, without any attempt at concealment. The victim was reached. The dagger was in. It was just a matter of where it had gone in the right spot or whether he had missed and resulted in him being discovered, meaning all that hard work was for nothing. Shadowmere's ears flicked back and forth, though she made no other move. Her eyes were fixed on Lavinia, watching her for signs of a reaction.

Finally, she raised her head, waving it from side to side since she couldn't use her hands to get her hair out of her face. The purple skin was blotchy, looking almost bruised. Then, she looked around at him, "Lucien, you don't know anything about my father." This wasn't good. Lucien mentally braced himself, waiting for her to start shouting or, worse, crying again. Was it the victim waking up or just a dying spasm? "But, then again, I didn't really know my father very well. It's been so long since I last saw him and I only remember the good times we had together. So, I suppose..." It seemed to take every bit of willpower she had to say this, "...it would be silly of me to try to be like him."

Lucien didn't say anything. The victim was dead. The target was hit. He could breathe a little easier now.

* * *

It was only when morning broke did Shadowmere finally move and carry Lavinia to the Mages' Guild to get her arms fixed. Lucien persuaded them to teach her how to pop her arm back in after dislocating it just in case and, as a spur of the moment decision, bought them a book on restoration. He hated to have to come to the Mages' Guild multiple times. That would make both of them look weak.

It got a lot easier from then on, though. He wouldn't have noticed it at the time but, afterwards, a lot of tension had been relieved from between them. Lavinia began to regain some of her old merriment, though she could never be as carefree as before. She smiled much more and talked to him in a friendly way. She even started calling him 'Lu', which he could just tolerate. It couldn't be any worse than Lulu, after all. The Purification was still a forbidden subject, of course, but there was really no reason to talk about it.

It was when Lucien was going down to get supplies that what she had said a week ago struck him again. In the supply shop, he spotted something glistening on the counter. A ring sat there but one unlike any of the cheaply-made things one would expect from a dingy little place like this. Though sporting a large dent in the side, it still held its shine. The unique and delicate crafting around the jewel was tangled like an Ayleid gate but attractively so.

As Lucien observed it, the overly-helpful shopkeeper said without prompt, "Oh, we got that one from someone from the Imperial City, guv'ner. Had it done by Red Diamond Jewelry. Certainly was keen to get rid of it, though. Maybe a divorce..." He prattled on while the ideas in Lucien's head began to form, along with the picture.

He left, leaving the shopkeeper to go at thin air about why the previous owner had wanted to get rid of it so badly. When he got to Fort Farragut, he was already possessed once again with the wild, impatient creativity an artist had when a good idea had presented itself to them. He descended down to his much-neglected study (_I must dust it at some point_) and pulled out a sheet of parchment.

Then, with a piece of charcoal and by the light of a white Ayleid stone, he began sketching. It was to be a milestone, really. Until then, he had been seeing inspiring things and painting them afterwards. It was rather new to him to paint something and then turn it into reality,

_It has to be perfect. It's the first time I've done this but it absolutely must be._

He began to think of the imagery it could use. A ring was symbolising a union of two, after all, _We are so contrasting, though, so it must represent that. Yes, a union of contrasts. So, a combination of both silver and gold. Gold for her, silver for me. We need a jewel, of course. No, make that two. We need to bring in the contrast in that as well._

He discarded his first ruined sketch and began another with heightened fervour, throwing the useless one aside in a crumpled ball,

_Let's see...I can only think of obsidian for myself. Yes, my allegiance is with the Black Hand and has been for many years. I wear black all the time so that is fitting. For her...amber, like her hair. A good fiery colour, I'll have be specific about this. Two trangles of each to form a split diamond. Whether split or together, they form a shape. I cannot have a circle for that reason._

As he sat back to look at the finished thing on the fifth piece of parchment, he had the sinking feeling that it was missing something. One side had the jewel but the rest was bare. That didn't look right. There needed to be something there,

_An inscription? Not in Cyrodiilic, though. That would look too common. Ayleid? Yes, that would suit her. The marks upon her skin are like that of an Ayleid warrior and I do remember Vicente saying once that there was a myth about the Harlas being descended from them. But, what to put?_

Lucien never liked the idea of a couple having a ring each. If there were two parts, one could easily be lost. It wasn't romantic at all. To have one ring...now, that was. It gave a picture of union, of two becoming one. One could never be broken..._Ah ha! That's it!_

Getting out his Ayleid dictionaries (he kept them just in case he needed them in a painting for artistic purposes), he got out yet another piece of parchment and began translating. It was a bit more tedious than drawing but it had to be done. It simply had to be if he wanted this thing to be absolutely perfect. First, the words, then the slight changes to make the grammer immaculate and the final testing. When all that was done, he held the finished sketch on the tenth piece he has used since he had started (he had never used this many sketches for a painting). As he did the final painting on a small piece of canvas (a sketch would never be good enough for a good craftsman), Lavinia poked her head through the trapdoor.

He managed to hide it just in time as she approached,

"What are you doing, Lu? You haven't been down here for ages and now you spend hours!"

"These things do build up if you leave them for too long." He shrugged, hiding the drying painting under the desk and hoping she hadn't noticed in the limited light. Thankfully, she didn't and had a look through the scattered sketches that thankfully had nothing to do with the present project, before taking a seat on a small stool beside his desk,

"The Listener's being rather quiet, isn't he?" She stated,

"Yes." He nodded, remembering (without a trace of guilt) the large pile of letters that he'd burned that morning because the waste paper basket was getting too full, "I suppose the whole traitor hysteria is starting to die down." Neither of them needed to say why, "Not that anything he says has any importance, really."

"Don't you like him?"

"He's an idiot of a Bosmer who tries to please everyone and ends up pleasing no one."

"A bit like the Elder Council."

"Indeed. He does occasionally bring out an order under his own steam but they aren't very good ones. Like, this one about each member of the Black Hand having to take an oath of celibacy."

She took it exactly how he hoped she would, with a disgusted wrinkling of the nose and opening of the mouth, "_Why?_ If they don't mind murder, why don't they like sex? I would have thought no one would bat an eyelid if someone was sleeping around so long as the contracts were done."

"Common sense would dictate that, yes." Lucien nodded, "But, the Listener did say that it was the Night Mother's will."

"And, is it? I can tell by your voice that you don't think so."  
"I don't." Lucien was silently impressed that Lavinia was beginning to be able to read him (and reminded himself to try and find out how his voice betrayed him), "He always says that to make his orders sound impressive and it's never true."

"He probably made that order because he can't get any himself."  
Lucien nearly broke his charcoal as he snorted with laughter. The idea of the Listener being jealous of him..._oh, that is so brilliant and so plausible!_ It was the best explanation apart from Ungolim being generally stupid he had ever heard. The pictures it brought were just too priceless and hilarious to get out of his head. He wondered if he could draw it to fix it in his memory forever,

"So, you agree with me?"

"Yes. Very much so. The Listener probably isn't very popular with the ladies!"

"Though, you must be."

"Well, I suppose so, yes." Lucien nodded, trying and failing to be modest (he lacked practise in being modest), "But, I've never really had a romantic interest. The women I sleep with have been just for one night's pleasure, really. I've never had intimate contact with anyone I can really call an equal."

"Me neither. Well, I've never had intimate contact with anyone, full stop."

"Never?" He looked around, surprised. Surely, Vicente had managed to steal her virginity away since he'd had plenty of time to do it,

"No. Why are you acting so surprised? I'm not that old, you know!"

"Didn't you and Vicente-?"

"He wanted to take things so slow, a slug with breathing problems would have told him to hurry up! We never got further than kissing my shoulders. I guess it's because he was an old guy."

_Ah, thank Sithis for Vicente's old-fashioned ideals! _Lucien almost breathed a sigh of relief. He felt he could almost forgive the vampire for his actions now,

"You look kinda happy about that." Lavinia noted, with a sly tone in her voice, "Why, do you want a shot at me?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"I thought you only went for women who were below you."

"Well, you _are _my Silencer."

"You wouldn't think I was with the amount of work you're giving me. Or, lack of it."

Lucien hadn't given a moment's thought to the now-abandoned dead drop order at Hero Hill. Nor, did he intend to. The contract could wait. Celedaen was not likely to move from his cave. Necromancers never were,

"It can wait." He said, carelessly. Perhaps that was the first sign of change in him, he had thought in retrospect. He would never treat a contract with such little care before,

"Are you sure?" She put her head to one side which would have been a rather attractive movement had the shadows of her thinned cheeks not been thrown into sharp relief by the light. Cheeks that had never recovered from vampirism and remained stubbornly bloodless and half-hollowed. She still kept her youth but her face could never be the same, "You never said a contract could wait before."  
_She really is a masochist._ He thought to himself again, _This is twisting the knife for her more than it is for me! _"It just...depends on how much the Black Hand prioritises things."

"So, they really wanted it done last time?"

"The Listener wanted to be seen doing something about the problem. You know the Third Tenet."

"That Third Tenet is a problem when the people giving the order are idiots, aren't they?"

"Indeed."

Though the silence was becoming tense again, Lucien felt that they were coming close to an understanding. A forgiveness, which made him feel a lot lighter than before. He put down his charcoal, content in the knowledge that the little painting was hidden and dried, and faced her fully,

"Lavinia, I have been neglecting my duties as of late just as much as I have been withholding yours. Every order I have received from the Listener has gone straight in the bin."

Her eyes widened, incredulously, "Didn't you just say-?"

"Ignoring an order is far from outright defiance so I'm using that little loophole. But, the point is that I realised how stupid the Purification order was as soon as it had been fulfilled. I don't know what I was thinking obeying it." He was lying but it was better than admitting his shameful jealousy, "The Listener has no idea what to do in this situation and any order he gives only makes it worse."

It was a big risk, talking about the Purification, but one worth taking. Lavinia nodded fervantly, her brow furrowing, "I think the same thing. Killing a whole Sanctaury is just saving this traitor a lot of time. We're handing him another victory. Even if he was among them, it's a too-high price to pay."

"Quite right." Lucien nodded, "I should have let you come with me to that meeting. You would have given them a good piece of your mind."  
"I would like nothing better."

It felt incredibly good to badmouth the Black Hand like this. It was so much easier to talk about the unspeakable thing of the Purification now they had got over the first hurdle. Soon, they were happily talking about what they would like to do the Black Hand when they got their hands on them and even starting doing sketches of jokingly-elaborate plans to catch them in pleasurably gruesome traps that would eventually kill them.

It was a good evening spent in the study. He even thought about revealing the planned present he had the painting of under his desk but he managed to resist. This easiness between them continued on into dinner where he let her pile on as much Vivec chilli sauce as she liked (even though it really had no place in the dish he had made) and the conversation turned to even lighter things.

When they went to bed that night, it was smiles on their face and remembering the warmth of the other's lips on their own.

* * *

The letters from the Listener were fewer now. Maybe he was getting the message that Lucien wanted no more to do with the Black Hand at that time. That suited him just fine. It meant that his weekend was now free of worry about the Black Hand interferring with his plans. With the letter from Red Diamond Jewelry in his pocket, he checked through his bags before throwing them into the 'borrowed' carriage. Shadowmere did not like the idea of pulling it but she had to do,

"Going somewhere, Lu?" Lavinia finally noticed when he had finished,

"Indeed, we are, Vini."

"We?"

"Yes, indeed." He glanced around, making sure everything was perfect. Yes, the sun was at its highest point in the sky, sending its rays in dappled light through the trees. Oh, yes, that light would look good through stained glass. Checking his immaculate clothes, he noticed with a pang that she was wearing some rather raggy boy's clothes that did not flatter her at all, "But, you're not at all dressed properly for it. Here," He delved into the luggage and pulled out a package he had strategically hidden for just such an occasion, "change."

Giving him a strange look, she complied, getting inside the carriage and pulling down the blind in the door. While she was busy getting ready, he began imagining the scene and her reaction when her veil came off. Just when he thought of the veil, she pulled up the blind and held it up, "And, just what is this meant to be?"

"A veil, of course. Put it on."

"Some contract, this is." She muttered as she consented before stepping out, "I look like I'm about to get married!"

Lucien had to stifle a snigger. With that, he put a blindfold on her eyes and began to guide her down the path. Thankfully, it was paved so her white dress never got dirtied. He knew that black might have been more appropriate for someone like her and a black bride was such a lovely image. Still, it was as always; he simply could not imagine her in any other colour but white.

At the end of the sloping path was a ruined chapel, cleared of its priests by a Dark Brother years ago and still empty. He left her at the door with commands not to remove her blindfold until he said so. The pews were empty but he tried to imagine the spirits of their Sanctuary sitting there. Telaendril crying into a handkerchief maybe and Vicente consoling her. No, Gogron. Vicente would be acting as the best man. Antoinetta would be the bridesmaid.

He called out to her when he reached the alter to remove her blindfold. When she did, it took her perhaps ten seconds to realise what was going on, "What?" She blinked, her eyes wide,

"Come on." Lucien beckoned,

"_What?_" She looked down at her dress then at him, "O...kay...you and me..."

"Only if the bride is willing." He began to feel a bit nervous now. What if this was too soon? What if she ran off and spoiled everything?

"Uh...are there any marriage sermons in the Dark Brotherhood?"  
"No, but I'm sure they won't mind us borrowing one of the Divines'."

She nodded slowly. Then, a big grin spread across her face, "Sod the sermon! Let's cut to the best bit!" With that, collecting up her skirts, she ran up the aisle to tackle her husband to the ground and pull him into a ferocious kiss.

* * *

A/N: Lavinia gets a happy ending at last! Say, should I do more flashbacks or go back to the present time? I'm taking a bit of break from BD this week to concentrate on other things so I'll give you guys time to tell me what you want.


	39. Chapter 38: The Obsidia

A/N: I am really happy with how quick I got this chapter done, especially considering how long it is. By popular demand, I'm back in the present now. Hopefully no more flashbacks!

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yep, a weird but brilliant wedding.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Glad you think Lucien's in character.

**Commentaholic: **That's very encouraging to hear. My main ambition in life is to become an author, after all!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 38: The Obsidia**

Farwil woke with a start. Bit by bit, reality began to hit him. He wasn't a dark-haired Imperial artist. He wasn't a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. He wasn't Lavinia's husband. He was a Dunmer. He was the son of Count Indarys. He was Farwil Indarys. As he slowly remembered who he was and began to realise that the person he had been just moments ago had been only a dream, it began to hit him that his surroundings were completely unfamiliar.

It had the appearance of a small farmhouse, darkened slightly by all the curtains drawn over the windows, despite the fact that he could see daylight shining through them. Everything seemed to be half in blackness, '_That's strange...'_Whenever he turned his head, his vision was still half black, even though there was no obvious source of shadow.

Then, blushing slightly at his stupidity, he realised that his left eye was covered by something. When he lifted his hand, he felt linen bandages across them (he knew what they felt like since he'd had to use them enough times during training). He sat there, puzzled for a moment, before he realised what this meant. Had he been injured? Perhaps attacked on the road and brought to some kindly farmer's house who saw him unconscious on the road. But he didn't rememeber going on a trip at all. The last thing he remembered was...

His blood chilled at the memory. The Obsidia appearing from the shadows...'_wait, he said that he was Lucien Lachance...'_His eyes widened in shock at the events before him that he didn't understand but couldn't be coincedence.

_Click_.

The door handle turned and opened slightly. Farwil jumped in shock and retreated into the headboard of his bed, sure it would be the re-entrance of the Obsidia,

"What are you doing?"

Farwil again blushed at how stupid he had been. It was not the Obsidia but what looked like Dunmer boy in perhaps his late teens or early twenties with pale purplish skin. At first, he thought his long dark hair was cut neatly at the nape of his neck but then he realised that it was a lot longer than that, tied in a pigtail that he'd thrown around his neck like a scarf. He couldn't see much else of him since he was shrouded in a dark cloak and his face was half covered by a tightly-tied piece of black material.

When he got closer, however, Farwil became very unsettled by his eyes. They were not the natural ruby red of all Dunmers but a dark black, a colour no different from his pupils. He could not stop himself retreating at the sight of them. Something that the boy didn't ignore, "You seem nervous. Is it my eyes?" He sounded annoyed and Farwil, knowing that this was probably a touchy subject, quickly lied,

"No, it's just-where am I?"

"I was told you would not know." He nodded, his eyes never betraying any kind of change in emotion. Farwil managed to notice without betraying it that the boy's voice was not a normal Dunmer one either. It was deep, with many deliberate pauses, like an Imperial's,

"Told?"

"In a vision. I was told to bring you here and to hide you away from the world until you woke."

"Hold on." Farwil struggled to wrap his head around this and the boy was not helping, "So...how long have I been here?"

"Exactly three days. All that time, you were unconscious, though very restless." With that, he opened a cupboard and took out an apple. He carelessly tossed it to Farwil over his shoulder, who just barely caught it. As soon as he bit into it, he realised how hungry he was and quickly devoured it, although the apple was rather squashy.

The boy watched him all that time, motionlessly perched on a stool. Farwil began to wish he'd take his cloak and scarf off. It was rather unsettling to sit opposite someone who would not show him their face, '_You'd think I was used to it, with all the time I spent around Lenore.'_ He thought to himself. As soon as the name came into his head, the boy suddenly started reminding him of her. They were nothing alike but there was something in his motionless, disciplined silence that made him think of bright orange hair under a dark hood,

"Uh, I'm Farwil, by the way-"

"I'm aware of that." He nodded, "I saw the missing posters in Bravil and Anvil."

"Missing posters?" Farwil repeated and then he realised belatedly that his father would certainly become worried that his son had gone missing in the night. It then hit him (his thoughts were working particularly slowly) that he didn't even know whether the person in front of him was his saviour, an accomplice or even his abductor, "But, who are you?"

Seeming to read his mind by his shuddering tone of voice, the boy simply said, "I was given the name Raven."

This seemed a rather strange answer and Farwil, for some strange reason, got the feeling that this was false. It sounded like a false name, alright. Dunmers were not called Raven, '_Then again, they're not usually called Lavinia or Lenore, are they?'_ He wanted to inquire further but he couldn't think of a clever way to do this to catch the boy out. Even if he did, he doubted it would fool him,

"Did you take me from Castle Cheydinhal?" Farwil asked, warily,

"No. I was guided to Fort Farragut. I found you unconscious in a secret room below the floor."

The dreams still fresh in his mind, Farwil knew exactly which room he meant. The one where Lachance had painted Lavinia all those years ago when she was a new recruit and where they had talked while he hid the painting of their wedding ring. He almost shook his head at the impossibility of it, '_Even the strongest skeptics would say it was a bit far-fetched that I found that ring by accident so she could find it in the armoury',_

"Uh...who...guided you?" Though, he had a very good idea who it was,

"Like I said, a vision." '_He IS like Lavinia. He doesn't like giving anything away', _"Perhaps, you ought to get out of bed. I have a spare set of clothes that would fit you here."

Farwil silently did as he was told. Like Lavinia, he had an air of silent authority about him. The clothes were not expensive but they were practical. It was the sort of things he had seen more sensible knights wear while training and that he had scorned because he thought they didn't look noble enough. Finally, Raven removed his heavy cloak, folding it in a neat pile on the stool. Underneath, he was wearing a black silk Akaviri robe with a bright orange tiger embroidered across it below a blooming tiger-lily that made him remember orange hair again.

Without giving a word of warning, he approached Farwil and began to untie the bandages around his face. It didn't hurt but it gave him quite a shock when he realised how fast Raven could move. In an instant, his face was completely unobscured. The vision out of his left eye seemed to unharmed. Even a quick test by covering his right eye showed that,

"I know not what caused that injury to your face but it was long healed by the time I found you. The bandages were just a precaution."

It took Farwil a little while to realise that, even though his eye was normal, there was something wrong with his face. He could feel something rough on it. No, not on it. The skin itself had become like this. Something imprinted across the left side of his face in some kind of shape he couldn't figure out. When he finished his fruitless and increasingly horrified investigation, Raven had retrieved a mirror from somewhere, holding it up to his face.

It was lucky that Raven was the one holding it. Farwil would have most certainly dropped it at the sight. A black handprint was splashed across his skin, burnt into it like a brand. His eye was not bloodshot but blackened so it resembled Raven's,

"_Or mine._" At first, he thought Raven had spoken but, as he opened his mouth to reply, it spoke again, "_It's not Raven. Don't tell me you have forgotten me, when I took the trouble of letting you into my memories._"

He closed his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. His reflection showed him a pale and scared Dunmer and he was certain, for many moments, that it would morph into the face of Lucien Lachance. It was only the voice of Raven that brought him back to his senses,

"Your shock is understandable. That symbol is best left unshown."

"You know it?" But, Farwil already knew what this meant. The Black Hand, the symbol he had seen carved into Lavinia's robe clasp and what he had seen countless times in Lachance's memories, was the symbol of the leading members of the Dark Brotherhood. Something that even the Legion didn't know. So, if Raven knew- "Then, you're..." He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to even think it.

Raven didn't even answer. He pulled off his robe, revealing the tight-fitting armour Lavinia always wore when she had been with Lucien. The sort that was only found on a Dark Brotherhood assassin. Without any pause between actions, Raven undid two of the many leather straps around his chest, loosening a silver plate of armour positioned on the end of his shoulder.

Farwil's heart sank lower when he saw the symbol burned into the metal. The exact same one that was burned in his face.

"I am Silencer Raven to Speaker Alor. You were marked by the Black Hand by the Obsidia. Though I do not know why, I can assume that you are to play some part in our future."

Farwil felt like his insides had turned to ice. Raven's short speech had shaken him. He couldn't be involved in the Dark Brotherhood in the future, could he?

"_Well, we'll see._"

"Obsidia?" Farwil said aloud,

"_The very same. Glad to see I have not possessed an idiot. That WOULD be very embarrassing._"

"You're _possessing _me?"  
"Excuse me." Raven's voice brought him back to reality and the Obsidia had the decency to shut up, "Are you talking to the Obsidia?"

"He's talking to me." Farwil nodded. He caught sight of his reflection again and a new despair came into him. How on earth could he face his father looking like this? Who on earth would believe him when he told them how he had got it? And, what horrible thing would happen to him even if they did believe it? The Dark Brotherhood would not like their secrets being given away,

"_You could always say you got it in an Oblivion Gate._"  
"Lavinia wouldn't believe it."  
"_Kindly talk to me in your head. You're confusing Raven._"

Indeed, the boy was staring at Farwil, making him blush when he realised, "Sorry. He just started talking again."

"Perhaps you should reply only in your thoughts."

"Yeah, that's what he said." He fingered the black handprint again and finally said what he was thinking out loud, "Father's going to throw a fit when he sees this. He'd probably never let me out the castle again."

"Because of a facial disfigurement?" Raven raised his hand and pulled down his handkerchief, "That never bothered me."

Farwil gasped. A straight pale scar traced itself from just below each eye all the way down to his jawline so he had the appearance of permanently crying. But that was not the most astonishing thing. His face was exactly the same as Lucien Lachance. This was confirmed by the murmured, "_Yes, remarkable, isn't it?_" from the Obsidia. That was said in a sort of knowing tone, as if he knew something Farwil didn't,

_Illegitimate offspring?_ Farwil thought, _He's slept with enough women. And, by the look of the ears, he's only half-Dunmer._

"_Ah, you're on the right track._" The Obsidia's voice was still annoyingly knowing, as though he expected Farwil to know, "_But, this wasn't from some throwaway one-night-stand or the result of a brothel visit. Oh, no._" He didn't say anymore than that; he just left Farwil tantalisingly hanging. He was probably enjoying this. He was about to voice what he had just found out when his jaw suddenly locked. He could not open his mouth or even make any sound from it, "_Not so fast, Farwil. I want him to find out from someone else, not you._"  
_Alright, I won't tell him!_ He snarled in thought. The fear of the Obsidia was subsiding now. He was just becoming very annoying, _Now, let me speak!_

"_Very well, very well._"

When their little exchange was finished, he found Raven to be watching him with his head to one side, as though he was a mildly interesting fighting demonstration, "I was just, uh, talking to the Obsidia again."  
"I know." Farwil knew Raven was young in years but he couldn't call him a boy really. He was too emotionless to be called that. Then again, he was a Dark Brotherhood assassin so he could hardly be called normal. Were all of them like that? Lavinia was living proof of that and so was Raven, "Uh...how did you-"

"Get these scars?" Raven finally showed some emotion by closing his eyes and giving a small sigh as though this was not something he liked talking about, "Since there is no hurry and you are unlikely to move from here in the near future, I may as well tell you the whole story. Before I took up the offer to become a Dark Brotherhood assassin, I was a priest. Yes, I know it seems shocking but even servants of the Nine can become unholy agents. Then again, I don't think I was ever a true servant of the Nine. I did nothing but cause trouble.

"I was a plague rat for trouble. It didn't matter which chapel I found myself. Something bad would always happen not to me but to others around me. People would fall ill, get in terrible accidents and were even killed. I am sure you heard of the Dark Brotherhood attack on the Chapel of Arkay in your city. I was the only survivor. The problem priest, they called me."

Farwil did remember his father telling him about the mood of the Chapel being dulled before the attack because of a 'problem priest',

"So, you did hear of me." _Did I show it?_ "The last chapel I was sent to was the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch. That was...a little better than the others. I had a friend there, a great rarity for me. But, my curse continued its course. Soon, a Bosmer primate by the name of Taeniel who had been taunting me for my half-breed heritage was struck down by disease. I grew frightened and wanted to leave but my friend stopped me, saying I should not give way to such fears.

"So, I remained and it did not strike again. I allowed myself to grow comfortable there and even became somewhat happy living in Kvatch. Then, it happened. Quite out of the blue. I was snatched from my journey back from collecting supplies by the Bosmer's father, Saeniel. When I came to my senses, I was bound in a private room in one of the inns with the both of them there.

"I remember it so clearly. Almost as clearly as my friend's face. The father, clearly very demented, began taunting me. The usual, really. 'You're an ungodly freak, you should die in a ditch', etcetra." Farwil supposed it was because of his Dark Brotherhood training but it still amazed him how Raven could say these horrible things as though they were nothing, _Then again, if he's half-Dunmer, he's probably had a lot worse,_

"I ignored it, as I always did. I had been told this many times and learned that not responding to these insults would make the aggressors tired of their game and thus make them stop eventually. Such was not the case with the Bosmer. He grew more incensed with every silence but I consoled myself with the assumption that my friend would find me when he noticed my absense."

More emotion crept into his face. His eyebrows furrowed in anger and his voice became bitter, "He did not. After a long while of imprisonment, I began to despair but still did not show it. Taeniel, becoming as crazed as his father, took up a dagger and said, 'Don't you have any despair?' He raised the dagger while Saeniel encouraged his madness, 'Don't you ever cry?' the father asked. The primate then began his work 'Let's make you cry'."  
Farwil's blood chilled as he heard these words. He did not say them with any particular emphasis that he didn't have in his voice already. He couldn't even imagine the kind of terror of being locked in a room with those two maniacs must have been like. He stayed quiet, listening with the same rapt attention he had given Lavinia when she told him about her husband,

"I thought at first that they were going to slit my throat but they made these cuts down my face and then his father fled. I can admit without shame that I was truly scared and I wanted my friend with me. Only Taeniel was there to laugh in my face. I was untied and shown a mirror. When I saw what they had done, I was filled with rage. I normally am able to suppress it but I suppose I was at my breaking point. I fought with him. In the struggle, I gained the dagger and ran it through his stomach.

"I came to my senses the moment I had done it. I was shocked at myself, as any who had done his first kill is, and, once I heard the innkeeper knocking on the door after hearing all the noise, I fled through the window." His voice lost its bitter tone now and became more matter-of-fact, "That was how I gained entry into the Dark Brotherhood, where I have resided for four years. And, that is the story of these scars. Now then, tell me yours."

"It's not very interesting-"

"Nor was mine. Continue."

Wondering how on earth Raven could find a story like that uninteresting, Farwil stammered out his visit from the Obsidia. When he tried to tell him about the visions he had seen, his jaw locked again. Raven, however, took this in his stride, "So, the Obsidia wants to keep his secrets. Very well. It would not do for me to object to his will."

"_Good boy._" This time, something even more frightening happened. His jaw came out of its lock and worked all on its own. His voice produced speech he could never utter by himself. Deep like Imperials and deliberately dark, _Oh, Divines. He can control me!_

"_Yes. That's what I've been doing for the past few months while you were experiencing my story."_

"Wait, months?"

"He has informed you then. You have been missing for many months. I only just found you a few days ago. I was searching for you already but the Obsidia was kind enough to give me your location."

"You were _searching_ for me?"

"I was ordered to. The Listener had specifically ordered us to search for you in addition to our duties of killing any and all Mythic Dawn members."

"The Dark Brotherhood has been killing the Mythic Dawn?"

"Of course. Our abilities are very useful in such a situation. The Obsidia hid you well if no one else had found you before now. Now then," Raven pulled up his scarf again and threw on his robe and cloak, "are you ready to depart?"

"What?" Farwil jolted at this suggestion, "But, I can't go back to Cheydinhal with this thing possessing me!"

"'_This thing' is the cat's mother, Farwil. Kindly address me with a little more respect. Remember who can take control of your body at any given moment._"

"I never said we were going to Cheydinhal, did I?" Raven threw him a thick cloak which hit him right in the face,

"Then, where the hell are we going?" Farwil snarled, getting fed up of Raven's attitude towards him as he pulled on the cloak. He noticed that this had a high collar that covered the bottom half of his face much like Raven's handkerchief, "I want nothing to do with the Dark Brotherhood!"

"Then, I suggest you come with me, Branded One. Oh, don't give me that face. Many in the Dark Brotherhood would kill the whole population of Cyrodiil for the opportunity to be branded by the Obsidia."

"Well, they're crazy!"

Raven gave him a dark look, "You didn't need to tell me that."

With that, he pushed the door open, exposing bright and too-intrusive sunlight. After the dimness of the farmhouse, it took Farwil some time to get used to being in daylight. It was springtime with budding flowers peeping through the long grass and warming air around them. This sight comforted Farwil more than ever. It had felt like years since he had seen such normality,

_That also means Lavinia's doing a good job keeping the Oblivion hordes at bay._ He realised after a moment of thought, _Or, she's stopped the Oblivion crisis already._

"_You're wrong on both accounts there._" The Obsidia's know-it-all voice invaded his mind, "_Lavinia isn't keeping the Oblivion Gates closed and she mostly certainly isn't close to stopping it. Ah, don't ask me for details now. Turn your attention to things outside your mind for now._"

_I would. It's just you keep cutting in._

It gave him a savage triumph when the Obsidia gave no response. He remained a silent, cold presence at the back of his mind. A whinney made him look round and he saw Raven attending to a fierce-looking black horse that struck a chord of memory that was not his. Farwil felt a relief and gladness that didn't come from anything he was thinking about. Without any warning, his legs began to move fearlessly towards the beast by themselves and his hand outstretched itself towards its nose,

"_Ah, Shadowmere. It has been too long._" The Obsidia's voice spoke fondly through his mouth, stroking the horse's surprisingly smooth nose. Farwil had always expected it to be scaly, since this Shadowmere certainly couldn't be called an ordinary horse. Shadowmere stared at Farwil for a while before recognising her old master possessing him and giving a snort of welcome,

"You know this horse?" Raven raised an eyebrow, looking interested about something for the first time,

"_She was mine, many years ago._" Farwil tried to regain control over his own voice but it was useless. His body just wouldn't work for him anymore, "_When did you come into ownership of her? I'm afraid I haven't been keeping my eye on my brothers as much as I should recently._"

"I didn't come into her ownership of her. She comes to me. I do not know why but she seems to feel an affinity with me and no one else."

"_Do not think Shadowmere picks any old person for her master. I would tell you why,_" Farwil's lips were pulled up into a smirk that he wished would never appear there again, "_but, Farwil's becoming rather irritated at my continued control. I'll let you find out for yourself._"  
Finally, Farwil was allowed to control his body again. He immediately got rid of that smirk and scowled. He was getting more and more annoying by that spirit now, his fear becoming next to nothing, "The sooner he's out of me, the better."

"Then, come with me." Raven pulled himself up on Shadowmere, showing a remarkable lack of fear for the animal that Farwil had admired in Lenore. That horse didn't even look rideable to him which was why he hesistated a little before allowing Raven to pull him up on the saddle behind him, "If anyone will know why you were marked, it will be the Listener. She is in constant contact with the Night Mother, as is her duty."

Farwil's stomach did a backflip. He didn't think he would be seeing Lavinia again so soon. The image of her silent, hard-muscled self clashed spectacularly with the girlish, energetic teenager the Obsidia had shown him, _Are they really the same person?_

"_Yes._" The voice in his head was more solemn than before and didn't irritate him so much, "_It saddens me to see her become like this. I saddens us all in the Void._"

Farwil could tell that he was being truthful. He could feel the spirit's mood become low, dragging his own down with it. He began to wish he'd met Lavinia when she was her old self,

"_You two would have got along very well. She was very like you._" The Obsidia agreed, as soon as he thought this, "_Perhaps that is why she likes you so much. She sees her old self in you._"

The Obsidia fell sadly silent. A cry of birds above them drew Farwil's attention. It was the first time he had really had a good look at his surroundings since he had been so distracted by Raven and the Obsidia before. The long grass had been parched yellow by the bright sun and everything seemed to have a golden glow about it unlike the fresh green of Cheydinhal. The birdcall had been seagulls circling around a mass of orange-roofed buildings at the bottom of a long slope. And, beyond that, the blue sea sparkled in the sunlight, stretching out indefinitely into the distance. Though he had never been here, he knew where they must be,

"Are we in County Anvil?"

"Yes, we are." Raven nodded, "This is Gweden Farm. Ill-named, because no farmer has set foot here for centuries. It has given itself to thieves and criminals as a hideout, instead. No one stays long, though. If they do, misfortune befalls them."

There was no way Farwil could have known from Raven's cryptic comments but, at the back of his mind, where the Obsidia resided, the reason for this was clear, "_I do not particularly like people trespassing in my death-place._"

"Before we seek the Listener, I have a mission of my own. Not one given by the Black Hand but just as important to me as their word. One I have been wishing to complete for four years. I wish to find the friend I had in Kvatch, show him my scars and demand to know why he did not come to my aid that night."

"But, Kvatch was burned to the ground by the daedra, wasn't it?" Farwil remembered him giving his speech to the Knights of the Thorn on the day they got the news about Kvatch but only vaguely, as though it was from a past life. Something about it not happening here because he was with them. And, how idiotic that seemed now,

"I know some survived. If he is among the survivors, then my path is clear. If not..." He broke off into a very emotional kind of pause. It was clear that, no matter what he said, Raven was still very attached to that friend. It was probably the only friend he had considering how half-Dunmers were regarded. It made Farwil think guiltily of Bremman,

"Let's away to Kvatch, then." Farwil nodded, as the silence became too strained to bear. Without another word, Raven urged their steed on. It was lucky that he had experienced in the Obsidia's memories how fast she was. He grabbed onto Raven's waist just in the nick of time and held on for dear life as everything around them became a golden blur.

They were in Kvatch in what felt like a matter of seconds. The whole world went back to normal speed and, all of a sudden, they were in the middle of what looked like a recently used campsite. The stakes used to tie the tents down were still there, the grass still lay compressed in neat tent-shapes and the smouldering remains of fires were scattered around the place. Raven cast a critical eye over the scene, "This must be where the survivors sheltered when the daedra overran the city." He explained, more for Farwil's benefit than his. Before he urged Shadowmere to move, his eyes lingered a little too long on a large flat rock just beyond the campsite.

She took them at a walk up the zigzag path up the plateau. Farwil was rather glad that they were on horseback because he could imagine having to take the path by foot would be very straining indeed. The high walls of Kvatch came into view, surprisingly undamaged considering that it had been attacked by the hordes of Oblivion. He had been expecting nothing but a few smouldering ruins. Instead, from the outside, it looked perfectly normal. The gate was a little makeshift but, apart from that, one would have never known about the seige.

There was one thing that showed the attack, though, that Farwil only noticed when they got closer. The blackened remains of an Oblivion gate, similiar to the one at Cheydinhal that Lavinia had closed, stuck out of the ground just in front of the gate, _This must have been the first one she ever closed. Well,_ He thought, bitterly, _at least she managed to close it. Look at what a mess I made with my first one._

He dismounted Shadowmere gratefully with Raven and walked silently behind him. They came across no hindrance as they entered the city; the guard only glanced at them briefly as if checking they weren't daedra. The damage to the city was more apparent inside the city walls. The houses were only half-done and scaffolding surrounding the chapel, holding up a newly-built belltower. The old one was given its own plinth. He supposed it was a sort of memorial to those who lost their lives.

He suddenly became very conscious of the builders around him staring at the pair of them. Raven just walked on as though there was nothing to worry about (and he was probably used to it). Farwil, however, felt his face flush at all those eyes staring accusingly at him. He felt a bit more respect for Lavinia for being able to act like Raven when everyone was staring at her. He certainly couldn't stand it and he was very glad of the cloak that he could somewhat hide in. It made the short walk to the chapel seem as long as the path from the campsite to the gate.

He was extremely glad to reach the dimness of the chapel. It was even more dim than a usual chapel due to the wooden scaffolding above obscuring all light, "_Oh, joy._" The Obsidia sneered, "_A glorious devotion of craft and toil to the Nine...makes me SICK!_"

_Well, shut up, then._

A sermon was going on to a very small congregation. A man with white hair and heavily-shadowed eyes was preaching at the alter in a loud and dramatic voice that was only reserved for speechs about death and damnation. And, sure enough, the man's words were, "The Oblivion Gate was only the beginning! The Nine have forsaken us for our evil deeds! The Hero of Kvatch will fall along with the hope of men!"

"_Sweet mother of Sithis, the Speakers are more cheerful than this! And, I'm not joking. Just look at Banus._" The knowledge of Banus Alor seeped into Farwil's mind and he had to stifle a snort of laughter at the shared information,

_Is he really a Speaker?_

"_I know. I always found his appointment rather odd. I suppose his Sanctuary got fed up of him being...hmm, what's the word I'm looking for?_"  
_Camp?_

"_Camp, that's it._"

_It's weird thinking that he's Raven's Speaker,_

"_So, you were listening. Yes, Raven is sometimes quite exasperated by his Speaker. Not that I can blame him._"

When the Obsidia fell silent after a more enjoyable conversation with the intruding spirit than before, Farwil turned to Raven, who was watching the preacher with a distinctly uninterested look in his eyes, "Is he always like this?"

"In fact, this is rather upbeat by Ilav's standards. He was only a lower priest when I was here. Ah, Oleta. The only other face I recognise here. High Priestess Christelle is not here, though. And, I cannot see _him_ either."

The Redguard priestess called Oleta spotted them just as the sermon (if it could be called that) ended, "Welcome, travellers!" She greeted them with her arms outstretched like the Cheydinhal priests always did, making Farwil feel instantly at ease, "Although we are not well-stocked, we will do anything we can to help."

"It seems like you are the only one who will do anything to help, if Ilav insists on making everyone plunge into despair." Raven said this in a fearlessly loud voice so everyone in the chapel heard him. Ilav glowered furiously at him, making Farwil gulp,

"You shall be the first to fall to the fires!" He cried, pointing a long finger at him, "Your impertenence will further anger the gods and plunge us-"

"If the hordes of Oblivion come again," Raven retorted, keeping an even tone, "then my only wish is that you throw yourself at them and rid us of your drivel."

Before the Imperial could answer, Raven threw back his hood and pulled down his handkerchief. Oleta gasped in shock and Ilav's eyes widened so much that he looked maddened, "YOU!" He cried, "UNHOLY CREATION! FOUL, UNNATURAL SPAWN OF EVIL! YOU BROUGHT THIS UPON US! YOU AND YOUR DEVIL COMRADE!"

"Who? Me?" Farwil spluttered as the finger was turned to him. Then he realised that the ride with Shadowmere had made his cloak fall down a little, revealing the Black Hand on his face. He tried to pull it back up but the damage was done,

"ATTEMPT NOT TO CONCEAL IT! I SEE THE MARK OF EVIL UPON YOUR FACE! IN THE NAME OF THE NINE, BEGONE FROM THIS SACRED PLACE AND DO NOT DARE DEFILE THE HOUSES OF THE GODS!"

"Spare me your nonsense." snarled Raven, taking a step forward as Farwil shrank back. As Farwil attempted to hide his face in shadow, Raven bravely came into the light, making the scars more prominant, "I did not come for you. Where is Brother Martin?"

"DO NOT HUNT HIM!" Ilav only become more demented with every second and Farwil began to wish he had a mask that would stick permanently on his face to spare him the mortification, "DO NOT BRING YOUR EVIL TO HIM!"

"Stop it, Ilav!" Oleta piped up at last, "Go back to your room. I'll deal with these two." Very gladly, Farwil watched the priest descend into the undercroft. All the while, he held up a holy symbol around his neck in front of him as though he thought it would defend him. Oleta sighed, "I'm sorry about him. This whole Oblivion crisis is driving him crazy."

"How can you let him preach?" Farwil asked, watching his congregation hurry out of the chapel, giving him and Raven a wide berth,

"I don't, when I can help it. It was just one of those days when I couldn't prevent it. Now then, reveal your face, dear. No need to be frightened."

Grateful at last for a kind, priest-like word, Farwil came forward into the light, pulling down his hood. Raven perched on a pew, folding his arms and looking up into the face of Akatosh with a closed expression on his face. Oleta brought Farwil forward and examined his face,

"Let's have a look at this, my lovely." Her fingers examined the brand with a Restoration Master's expertise, "My goodness, what a terrible mark you have there."

"Do not try to heal it, Oleta." Raven interjected, "It has been that way for years and not even the most skilled healer could get rid of it."

"_He's saving your name, there._" The Obsidia murmured, "_If she had tried to heal it, she would realise that it is indeed the 'mark of evil'._"

"Well, then, at least let me heal those scars, Brother Lucien."

Farwil blinked and, for a moment, didn't know who she was talking to. Then, he realised that she was referring to Raven, who's face darkened at the name, "I am a Brother no longer, Oleta. Nor do I go by that name anymore."

"_His mother named him after me._"  
_Yeah, I guessed._

"Do not heal my scars either. I have kept them for a reason."

Looking rather put out, Oleta struggled to find something to say for a moment, before finally saying, "What happened with Taeniel? He turned up dead just after you vanished." No response, "You said that you were looking for Brother Martin?"

"Yes. Where is he?"

"I don't know." She shook her head,

"If he is dead, say it outright."

"No, no, he's not dead. At least, I don't think so. It's been months since I last saw him and I haven't seen him since. He went with the Hero of Kvatch after the daedra were driven out. No idea why."

Farwil's stomach did another backflip,

"With the Hero of Kvatch?"

"Yes. Like I said, I don't know why. She just said she wanted a word with him, they had a chat and off they went. Though, I must say, Lucien," Raven (or Lucien) frowned at the mention of the name, "I'm glad you're looking for him. He was so worried about you ever since you vanished."

"Worried?"

"Of course! You two were best friends. Why wouldn't he be?"

Raven's face became even more solemn (if that was possible) and he delicately touched the scars upon his cheeks. Farwil realised that he probably didn't think this Martin had worried about him at all. With that, Raven stood, concealing his face once more, "Very well. Me and my friend will seek out the Hero of Kvatch and ask her where he is."

"You will tell me when you find him, won't you?" Oleta called after them.

The journey back was a little more bearable. Farwil managed by retreating his face as far as he could into his cloak. When Raven mounted Shadowmere again, he asked him,

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"How can you stand everyone staring at you like you've got two heads and calling you a freak?"

Raven simply shrugged, "You'll get used to it. Now, we need to meet with my Speaker. He may know where the Hero of Kvatch is."

"Yeah." Farwil nodded, "I know she's the Listener."

"Indeed. It seems our paths are indeed intertwined. Where we will find the Listener, we will find Martin."

As Shadowmere took them down the path again, Raven began speaking, "There are a few things you should know. This month is known as the Month of Grief. A month of grieving for brothers lost and remembering those who fell when the Dark Brotherhood was almost undone." A spark of recognition seeped into Farwil's brain, courtesy of the Obsidia,

"_Nice to see them giving tribute to me and my Brothers after all these years._"

"During which, we do not accept contracts and we are forbidden from killing anyone. A holiday, of sorts. Though, the Listener made this one an exception considering the circumstances."

"_I don't mind. This is a crisis, after all._"

"My Speaker thinks I am a mute so I will not be talking while we are meeting him."

"What?" Farwil didn't like the idea of having to explain his situation to a Speaker, no matter how silly he acted,

"Don't worry about talking to him. You'd be lucky if you even had an opportunity to say a word."

With that, they were off again. The world became a multi-coloured blur once more and Farwil felt sure he was going to be thrown off at any second if he changed his tight grip on Raven just a little bit. This journey was much longer and more dizzying than the last. He had to close his eyes because everything was just going too fast and his eyes were watering. He was beginning to forget what a still world felt like by the time they skidded to a halt.

He was sure the Obsidia had helped him get off Shadowmere because he was sure that he was going to just slide off the saddle into a heap. The ground beneath his feet felt too solid and he could have staggered if his legs were not under the spirit's control. They were no longer in the warm, sunbaked grasslands of County Anvil. The air was chilly and the ground was wet, as though it had been raining a while ago. Everything was green and brown like Cheydinhal and Farwil thought for a moment that they were there before the Obsidia murmured,

"_We're in County Bravil. Brace yourself, Banus is close by._"

Sure enough, he could see a figure on the road in the distance. Raven spotted him too and let go of Shadowmere's reins. As though this was a secret signal known only to them, Shadowmere backed away and galloped off into the dark wood. Farwil, though he hated the thought of riding her, started to miss her company after a while,

"Raven?" called a Dunmer's voice, "_Raven!_" Next thing he knew, the figure reached them and threw himself over Raven like a parent whose child had been gone for too long, "Oh, Raven, you bad boy! I was _so_ worried! Running off like that and leaving me all alone for days! Oh, I was thinking you'd been eaten by a scamp or a dremora! I've been looking everywhere for you! I was scared to death!"

Farwil blinked and stared. If he hadn't seen him, he wouldn't have believed he even existed. Banus nattered on at Raven about how worried he had been and how he'd been up all night searching for him in a high and very fast voice. Raven remarkably put up with it all with no change to his expression. It was about five minutes before Banus noticed Farwil. Which wasn't surprising since he had rather narrow eyes set into an unfittingly-masculine face,

"Oh! Don't sneak up on me like that! Who are you? Are you with Raven?"

"Uh, yeah..." Farwil didn't have a chance to say more than that for the Dunmer gave an incredibly effeminate squeal of delight, clapping his hands and actually jumping on the spot with joy,

"Oh, Raven, you've made a friend! How lovely! You know, Raven hasn't got _any _friends other than you. I know, it's absolutely terrible. It's because he can't talk, you see, but I'm sure you know that already! Raven is such a serious boy. It's not healthy for someone his age but I stay by him, of course. He's such a lovely boy, really, but he's not very good at being friends. I suppose it's because he can't respond to them. People can so cruel sometimes. Oh, but it's so wonderful that he's made friends with you. We must get to know each other over tea. Raven makes the best tea back home. Will you come?"

Farwil had to admire Banus for being able to say all that in one breath, "Ah, okay-"

"Lovely!" He clapped his hands again, "Come, come, then! And, don't wonder off now, Raven!" With that, he began to skip (actually skip) back down the path. Farwil stared after him, wondering what kind of underhand deal had been done to make this man a Speaker,

"Is he always like this?" He muttered to Raven, as they followed out of Banus' earshot (he could have sworn he heard the Dunmer singing to himself anyway),

"He's more highly strung than usual. Maybe it's because I was missing for so long."

"How_ do_ you put up with him?"

"Like I said, you get used to it."  
They came to an Ayleid ruin and Banus wasted no time in leading them down a dark passage. The minute they got in, he started gabbling to Farwil about how he had 'done up the place in such a nice way'. Farwil learned it was better to just tune out and let Banus natter on. Like Raven had said, silence would probably be better at getting him to shut up quicker. Or maybe, that was the Obsidia feeding advice into his brain.

They came to a large room that had been converted into a sort of sitting room. A fire was lit and Banus made a fuss of getting out the kettle, "_Oh, Sithis, we'll be here for hours. He's got too excited over this._" groaned the Obsidia and Farwil too felt a wave of trepidation. Maybe Banus wasn't the best person to come to if he was going to delay them further. Raven silently prepared the tea while Banus just went on and one about absolutely nothing. He was beginning to remind Farwil of a gossipy maid. The most gossipy maid in the world. He was beginning to see why he thought Raven was a mute; there was no way of getting a word in edgeways.

He could tell that even Raven was beginning to lose patience. His grip on his teacup was stronger than needed and his eyebrows became furrowed. Banus' voice was really starting to grate and he still could find a space to explain their situation, "_I am getting rather fed up of this, aren't you, Farwil?_" The Obsidia too was getting annoying, "_I think I ought to intervene here. Do you mind if I use your body again?_"

It took Farwil only a few seconds to decide, _Just this once,_

"...and, you know, when I first met him, he was just a poor little vagrant hiding in the bushes around Kvatch-"

"_Banus!_" The Obsidia's voice burst forth from his mouth, "_Shut up!_" Farwil could forgive the control the spirit had over him just for the look on Banus' face. Before he could open that overworked mouth again, the Obsidia cut across him, "_You've had twenty years to learn that your motormouth has no place in the Black Hand and you still haven't got that through your thick skull!_"

With that, his hands moved on their own once more and threw off his cloak, standing up so he towered over the Speaker. Farwil only just realised then that his hair was not in its usual windbraids but a stubby ponytail, a style more suited for Lahance's longer hair. Banus gave a sharp little cry of pain and leapt up as though he'd sat on a pin, his hands clapped over his mouth and eyes wide as saucers. This time, he seemed to find it very difficult to speak through his terror. Raven just sat still as though nothing of interest had happened,

"Wh-wh-who are y-you?" He whimpered, staring at the brand on Farwil's face,

"_I am the Branded One_." The Obsidia's voice sounded dark and powerful in a way that Farwil's own voice never could, "_The one chosen to receive the mark of the Obsidia, the mouthpiece of the Night Mother's Child. The Obsidia speaks through these lips to you now and sees you through these eyes._"  
Banus gaped for a moment and then, threw himself upon his knees, "Most unholy spirit, your humble servant-"

"_Enough formalities._" The Obsidia waved Farwil's hand irritably, "_You've wasted enough time with your prattling. We need to find the Listener and you know where she will be!_"

"The-the Listener?"  
"_Yes, the Listener, you effeminate idiot! The one you have been serving for the past twenty years. Now, where is she?_"

Banus stammered worse than ever, his throat seeming to be blocked by fear. Not that Farwil could blame him, "I-if she's not closing Oblivion gates, she'll be in...oh, what was it called again...Cloud Ruler Temple. That's the Blades' fortress around Bruma, I think. And, that's all I know, I swear!" He ended with a desperate wail, as though his life depended on his answer,

"_So, she still returns to that place, does she?_" The Obsidia said to himself and his voice became lower, more dangerous, "_She still returns to him._" A face appeared in Farwil's mind at the same time as the Obsidia's. A kindly-looking Imperial face healthily tanned with the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen. Though Farwil thought it looked rather friendly, the Obsidia felt nothing but a slight resentment for it along with a resigned sort of tolerance, "_Very well. Come, my boy._" He gestured to Raven, "_To Cloud Ruler Temple._"

"You're taking Raven?" Banus' fear started to subside a little, enough for his voice to sound a little stronger, "Why?"

"_Never you mind. Just do not hinder me._"

With only a polite, Akaviri-style bow to his Speaker, Raven picked up his cloak and left with the Obsidia-controlled-Farwil. When the Obsidia finally relinquished control of Farwil, Raven turned to him,

"That was rather impressive. I've never seen Speaker Alor look so scared."

"_Ah, frightening people just comes to you naturally when you have a job like mine._" The Obsidia stated in Farwil's head,

_Ah, why did you call me the 'Branded One'?_

"_The Chosen One sounds too heroic to be anything connected to the Dark Brotherhood. Not to mention, cliched. Now then, where is Shadowmere? I wish I hadn't given away that whistle to Lavinia now..._"

* * *

A/N: How was that? I think I might be a bit out of practise when it comes to writing from Farwil's POV.


	40. Chapter 39: Lucien Again

A/N: Another quick update. Just goes to show how working on one fic at a time does wonders.

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yeah, using minor characters is fun because you have more freedom to give them whatever character you want.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Yep, Lucien'll definitely make sure it's no fun!

**Commentaholic:** Don't worry. I don't mind how you review this. Glad this fic makes you so happy!

* * *

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 39: Lucien Again**

_Baurus_

The snow storms outside were starting to subside and spring was starting to show its face but the mood inside Cloud Ruler Temple was very tense indeed. The Hero of Kvatch was coming very close to gathering all the items needed to make a portal to Camoran's Paradise and, though many were glad to know the Oblivion crisis was close to being over, there was an undertone of worry.

Baurus had never been fooled by the double for a second. He had seen Lavinia rush out of Cloud Ruler Temple in the guise of Haecuba. He had recognised the powder on her face. Not to mention the fact she took Shadowmere was a dead giveaway. Haecuba was frightened of the horse, after all (as he saw in the Imperial City), and would never mount the horse with such confidence.

Haecuba was a capable fighter, that was plain, but she could never pass off as her mistress. Her fighting style was completely different, relying on spells where he had never seen Lavinia use a spark of magic before. He had not voiced this since he knew that he wasn't aware of the whole story. Baurus was fully aware of the dangers of making accusations that weren't fully formed. Besides, whatever Lavinia was doing, he was sure that she couldn't be in danger.

Along with Haecuba, the 'Second Hero of Kvatch' (as he called him in his head) was continuing his work tirelessly. Baurus saw reports of gates being closed with his trademark quick style about once every week, along with Haecuba's work (or, as he called her, the 'Third Hero of Kvatch'). Still, the absence of the First Hero of Kvatch, the one he had known from when the Emperor was murdered and all the chaos started, worried him since he had a significant lack of clues as to where he should be.

He couldn't even go down to Bruma to ask how the reunion had gone since Jauffre had insisted they left Bruma as soon as Saeniel was dead. All his orders after that was to stay on watch and keep guard over Martin. It was very frustrating not being allowed outside Cloud Ruler Temple when Haecuba could come and go as she pleased. Many of the Blades thought so (some were even beginning to resent the Hero of Kvatch) and, now, even the thought of protecting the sole heir to the throne couldn't keep away his constant boredom.

More often than not, he just considered confronting Martin and asking him straight out what was going on. However, this was kept at bay by an inability to think of a way to phrase this politely. Not to mention, Jauffre was in the room right next to it and would know of Baurus' rudeness straight away. It was a mark of how few exciting mysteries Baurus could find that he even considered doing something so foolish.

As the days drifted by like the many snowflakes outside, a whisper ran through the Blades of a possible large confrontation coming up soon. At first, Baurus dismissed the notion as just wildtalk. However, on closer examination and a check with Martin, it did seem possible that something big was going to happen. Martin would not reveal what it was exactly but he alluded that it was part of retrieving the last item needed to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise.

Then, in the middle of First Seed, just when he thought the Blades were going to start succumbing to cabin fever, something happened to break the boredom. The first thing that happened was Martin being rather subdued at breakfast. When Jauffre asked why, he simply said, "I just had a strange dream last night. It's nothing, really." Jauffre and Baurus exchanged significant looks at these works. They had known the Septim line for too long to know that a strange dream was not 'nothing'.

Baurus strategically asked him again in a careless, casual way to make it seem like nothing and it worked brilliantly, "I saw my father again. He told me to, ah, 'find the First Hero' and 'follow the first son to find the second'. I don't really understand half of what he says, to be honest."

"I never really understood much he said when he was alive." Baurus nodded, truthfully, "Still, he always speaks the truth. When he said 'the First Hero-'"

This brilliant opportunity was spectacularly interrupted by a cry from one of the sentries. Martin stood up, leaving Baurus feeling rather put out, _Next time._ He told himself, as he followed Martin to a throng of Blades crowding outside. Their boredom drew them to any distraction like a moth to a flame,

"Alright, back to your posts, everyone!" Jauffre called, sending the soldiers trapsing sulkily back to their duties. Baurus, seeing Martin as an excuse to stay outside, remained where he was, sensing a good mystery to stick his nose in.

* * *

_Martin_

Jauffre strode over to Captain Steffan and Martin tailed along behind. His 'Septim's instinct' was telling him that he needed to be here and see what was going on,

"People asking to be let in, sir." Captain Steffan said stiffly from under his helmet, which he had pulled over his face a little to try and block out the cold. Martin too realised how biting the air outside was, despite the Blades saying that spring was coming, "Two of them on a black horse, see? Told them to clear off but there's no reasoning with 'em."

Jauffre peered over the battlements, careful not to lean too far over. Something Martin had learned from the fighting training he had received during his time in Cloud Ruler was not to stick your head out too far since it invites arrows to be shot into it, "Leave, intruders." Jauffre snapped, showing his rare irritable side, "We are in no state to entertain wanderers."

"We seek no hospitality." A deep, slow and shakingly-familiar voice drifted up to them, _Could it be...?_ "Only an audience with the Hero of Kvatch."

"The Hero of Kvatch is not here. Now, depart at once or I'll have my men shoot you where you stand."

Suddenly, the air was cut by a loud neighing too high-pitched for a normal horse but still horse-like in its structure. That sound was familiar too and one he only associated with Lavinia. It made his heart grow cold and leap at the same time. His Septim's instinct kicked in and he was gripped by the urge to let them in. More than an urge. An irrepressable compulsion. He had to let them in at once. Jauffre would listen to him, of course. He just had to tell him,

"Jauffre, let them in."

"But, Your Highness!" The Breton went paler than usual and looked as though he had just asked him to run naked through Bruma, "We don't know who they are! They could be spies or, worse, assassins!"

_Assassins aren't really something to be worried about anymore._ Martin said to himself, "Let them in, Jauffre. I know they don't mean us any harm. Don't ask me why. It's just this...feeling I have." It was so hard to put it into words without seeming stupid or, worse, insane. However, the Grandmaster seemed understanding and, reluctantly, called for the gates to be opened.

The Blades were just as wary and reluctant as Jauffre and, looking at the newcomers, he couldn't blame them. They were clad all in black and the bottom half of their faces were covered. Two men came up the steps riding a black horse that Martin knew at once to be Shadowmere. The gleaming black coat, the powerful limbs and, most of all, the intelligent glint in those red eyes that one never saw on another horse.

Even Jauffre realised it, "Isn't that...Lenore-I mean, Lavinia's horse?"

The terrified stable-boy tried to take Shadowmere into the stable but she shook him off and walked in herself without any guidance. The smaller rider fed the horse a few pieces of what looked like raw meat (he didn't really like to think what it was) and then strode inside without a single word to anyone. The other taller one hurriedly followed him inside, attracting stares from all the Blades. As Martin hurried inside, Jauffre muttered, "What rudeness! Waltzing in without giving any explanation...!"

The Blades loitering in the hall stared at the strangers. Some laid their hands on their weapons while others just watched for sudden movements. Baurus glared at them with his usual seeing-more-than-anyone-else gaze while Jauffre just grumbled out their bad manners. Martin finally plucked up the courage to approach (Baurus still would not leave his side),

"What brings you to this place? If you want me to take a message to the Hero of Kvatch-"

"No." The leader cut across him, making Jauffre even more incensed about their lack of respect, "Speaking to you will do but I must insist that only you must hear what we have to say."

Baurus and Jauffre stirred uneasily behind him and even Martin knew this was asking a bit much. No Blade worth his salt would let the only heir to the throne be alone with very suspicious-looking people. Still, he knew that he had to hear them and they wouldn't say what incredibly important news they brought unless he was alone. He'd have to reach a compromise,

"Would it be alright if Baurus and Jauffre stay?" He pointed them out, "Only, common sense does tell you that it's not wise to be alone in a room with, ah..."

"Suspicious strangers." The leader finished off, "Very well. I will be content with that."

"Alright." Martin raised his voice to what he hoped was an authoritative tone, "Everyone except Jauffre and Baurus will leave the Main Hall."

The Blades obeyed, though most looked rather unhappy about this new development. Baurus stayed by Martin's side while Jauffre moved towards the strangers. As soon as the doors closed, he put his hands on his hips, "Now then, gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to remove your cloaks."

It looked for a moment as though they were going to refuse. Then, the leader threw off his hood, revealing long braided hair, an dark Akaviri robe and a pair of black eyes against purple skin that made Martin's insides disappear. His Septim's instinct no longer guided him and nothing could prevent him from the utter shock at the sight. The bottom half of his face was covered like an Akaviri assassin but no Dunmer or half-Dunmer he knew had such dark black eyes,

"_Lucien_?"

Jauffre whipped round, scandalised at Martin's recognition. Lucien did nothing but give a small nod, "I am glad you recognise me, Brother Martin. I saves me some time."

Now that they were face to face again, Martin realised that he really was a lot like his mother. The quiet authority, the underlying formidable air that demanded full cooperation, the hard eyes turning him into stone just by meeting them. He felt he was getting used to Lavinia's stare but he had not been faced with Lucien's for so long, making him absolutely defenceless against it. No, he wasn't turned to stone. His stare was different. There was no flush in his face and every muscle felt cold. Like he had been turned to ice.

Yet, in physical appearance, he looked nothing like Lavinia. His body was thin but not sickly-looking. Everything was perfectly in proportion and his limbs were supple and held the kind of invisible strength that Shadowmere did. In fact, he looked the very picture of an assassin. So much so that Jauffre put his hand on his katana at the sight of him.

Lucien too had Akaviri weapons. Two small daggers at each hip and a dai-katana like Jauffre's upon his back. All were perfectly positioned to be quickly drawn and used. After about ten seconds (though it felt like much longer to Martin), Lucien took a step forward. Jauffre and Baurus leapt into action at once, drawing their swords and crossing them in front of Martin, creating a barrier between himself and his old friend,

"Stop it, you two." The Septim's instinct returning, he knew that Lucien would not attack him. Not immediately, anyway. Lucien did not take another step but raised an eyebrow, showing his interest,

"Since when was a mere parentless priest important enough to be guarded by two of the highest soldiers in the province?"

"Long story, Lucien." Martin pushed the swords away and approached the young half-mer with more courage than he felt, "I'm so glad to see you. I never thought I'd see you again."

"I knew I would." The reply was terse and cold, making Martin go cold inside, "I wanted nothing more than to meet with you these past four years. To meet you," His eyes narrowed in unmistakable rage, "and demand an explanation."

With one swift motion, his face was revealed. Martin had to bite back a gasp of horror. His face was still the same except for the disfigurement in the form of two straight scars down his face. Like permanent tears on his face. That was nothing compared to the look on Lucien's face. His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowed and his mouth became rigid. An expression Martin wished he would never see, let alone be targeted by,

"Four years ago, I failed to return to the chapel. You did not try to find me for hours on end and, earlier that day, you refused to confide in me when you had done so many times before." This time, he managed to get right in front of Martin without any hindrance. Perhaps, Lucien's glare had turned everyone else in the room to ice as well, "By your inactivity, you as good as lent Taeniel and his father a hand in their torment of me."

"Taeniel?" Martin repeated, stupidly, not being able to think of anything to say. His brain seemed to have forgotten how to produce any original speech,

"Yes, the Bosmer primate who was singularly determined to make my life at Kvatch a misery. Or, have you forgotten already? No doubt it was easy for you."

"L-Lucien..."

"You need not worry about being polite to me. Why would you worry about how a person you do not care about felt? Even if I do not interest you, you should at least know that Taeniel gave me these scars and I purposefully left them unhealed just to show them to you."

He didn't even notice the pain that came with being slammed against a piller. He only realised when Jauffre gave a cry of shock and tried to lunge at Lucien. Martin tried to cry out a warning but he needn't have bothered. In a flash, katana met katana and Jauffre was thrown back. Finally, Martin was released and the world lost its icy feeling.

It took a while for him to realise what was going on. Jauffre and Lucien were locked in fierce, fast combat, their sword being only silvery blurs. Baurus ran to Martin, who felt his legs couldn't support him much longer, "Are you alright?" He asked, fretfully, all but holding Martin up,

"Fine, fine. Just a bit...shaken."

"What should we do, sire? Let Jauffre finish him off?"

"No!" This idea was heartstopping and his answer came before he had even thought about it, "Jauffre, don't hurt him!"

For all the good it did, Martin might as well have not spoken. The relentless clashes drew the Blades to the Main Hall. They had clearly been trained for this since, once they realised what was going on, they began to move into practised positions, blocking the doors and drawing swords as well as spanning around the walls to watch the fight. Some began shouting encouragement to Brother Jauffre while others ushered Martin onto the sidelines. The other hooded figure stood forgotten in the shadow of a pillar.

Martin tried to order the Blades to stop the fight but they were not listening. The fight was becoming faster and more brutal. Jauffre sustained a scratch to the face and Lucien's arm was slashed in retaliation, _By the Nine, they'll kill each other if this isn't stopped!_ Since the soldiers around him were cheering like they were watching an Arena match, Martin realised he had to take matters into his own hands.

At last, he managed to force his way between two jostling Blades and began to approach the two. Jauffre was starting to tire but Lucien was still going with a seemingly endless energy, his katana made practically invisible with the speed it moved. Very foolishly, Martin grabbed Lucien from behind and tried to pull him away. The Blades around him cried out in shock and horror at the new development and Baurus broke from the ranks to lend his aid,

"Stop it, Lucien! He hasn't done anything to you!"

"Do you propose to fight me then, _Brother Martin_?" _Oh, of all the things to say..._ Martin thought with dread as the Blades' incoherant shout became unanimously angry,

"Put that down, boy!" shouted Baurus over the din, "Surrender now and we won't have to kill you!"

No one saw the kick Lucien aimed at Baurus' stomach coming. The next thing he knew, Martin was watching the Redguard behind thrown backwards into a table, which spectucularly overturned, sending papers, flagons and mead everywhere. While Jena and Caroline hurried to pick their fellow Blade off the floor, Martin realised Jauffre was regaining strength and beginning a charge at Lucien, who was still restrained by Martin.

A bolt of horror went through Martin like he'd been caught on the wrong end of a shock spell. His body moved seemingly on reflex, letting go of Lucien and leaping out in front of him, "Jauffre, stop!" He shouted but the Grandmaster's blade was going too quick. Even though Jauffre's eyes widened in horror, the katana was still on a collision course with Martin's heart.

Then, something black clamped down on Jauffre's wrist and halted it, just as his sword was inches away from Martin's heart. The Blades stilled and everything went quiet while all eyes took in what had happened. The stranger who had come in with Lucien had moved between them, probably while Martin was attempting to restrain the boy. He had stopped Jauffre before he stabbed Martin with one hand and grabbed hold of Lucien's sword-hand with the other, effectively stopping the fight on both sides.

His cloak had either slid off during his swift motion or he had taken it off when no one was paying attention. He was a Dunmer but he too had dark eyes, indentical to Lucien's. His hair was shorter, tied back in a stubby ponytail, and had a bluish-black colour. But, what everyone was pointing at was his face. Bluish grey skin, typical of a Dark elf, but marred by a large, life-size black handprint-shaped brand across the left side of his face,

"This fight is meaningless." His voice sounded like Lucien's too, an Imperial's pitch and slow with many dramatic pauses, "Grandmaster Jauffre, we came here no intention of harming anyone here but we will attack in self-defence. Therefore, keep your sword to yourself and, though your haste to defend Martin is commendable, do not raise it against us again."

He turned to Lucien, "Lucien, you said you came here to ask Martin why he didn't come to your aid when you were captured by Taeniel, yet it is clear that you have made up your mind about him already. You are determined to hate him even though he had not given a word of explanation. Do not be so rash. Think, for once!"

With that, he let go of the pair of them but neither raised their blades. Jauffre hastily put his away and began apologising to Martin for such a terrible mistake. Lucien, on the other hand, seemed five times as horrified with himself. His katana fell to the floor with a loud clatter and he became just a black blur as he ran for the door. The Blades was thrown aside and he managed to dash through out of sight.

"After him!"

"No!" Martin's voice suddenly found the strength to be loud and commanding, freezing everyone in their tracks, "This is just a misunderstanding. Let me talk to him, he won't hurt any of us."

"But, sire-"

"I know he'd never kill me. Let me just have a few words with him and it'll be fine."

He was finally allowed out while the Blades very reluctantly stayed behind. They were probably waiting for a cry of pain or Lucien to chase him back in. The snow storm had stopped now and only a few flakes drifted down from the darkening clouds. Night was coming. It only just struck him then that there was no way he could outrun Shadowmere and dread began to settle in him again.

His fears went unrealised, though, when he went into the stable and realised that the horse was still there. Stubbornly remaining by the water trough while Lucien tugged desperately at her reins like the whole Imperial Legion was behind him, "Move, beast! Move!"

The only answer he got was an irritated snort from the horse and not other movement. Lucien continued to try and pull Shadowmere out to no avail and becoming increasingly desperate. So desperate that he didn't notice Martin approach him, "Lucien?"

His near-hysterical escape attempt halted abruptly as though someone had pulled a gag over his mouth. Now, he was the one seemingly turned to ice since he did not move another inch. Shadowmere took advantage of this lack of pulling on her reins and returned to her drink, ignoring her rider's distress,

"Lucien, you don't have to worry. I'll smooth this all over so you won't get punished."

"What makes you think anything a mere runaway priest can say will prevent trained soldiers arresting a man who looked and acted like an assassin?" He gave his hollow laugh, "How ridiculous. Has the Oblivion crisis turned you as mad as Ilav?"

"No, really. They will listen to me."

Finally, the black eyes turned on him but they had none of their frigid power now. Martin realised with a jolt that they were also wet,

"You really didn't know, did you? You didn't know that Taeniel and Saeniel were torturing me."

"I worried about you but I didn't think anything like that was happening." Martin nodded. As he spoke, the memories floated back to the surface of him waiting in vain by the fire before Christelle came bursting in to tell him that Taeniel was dead and Lucien was gone, "It was only when Christelle came in and showed me Taeniel's body that I knew you were gone. I'm sorry. I know I should have been more concerned."

"No, no." Lucien shook his head, making his longer braided hair quiver like a disturbed snake, "You were not at fault. I know that now. It's just...just..." His hands, that had still not lowered despite the reins being absent, began to quiver, "...I'm scared."

"Lucien." Martin approached the boy. There was no need to fear him now. He had just made a simple mistake and there was no lasting harm done, that was all. When he put his hands on Lucien's shoulders, he realised they too were shaking,

"I-I don't want to go to prison. I don't want to be locked up like some freak in a circus."

"It's alright." Martin lowered his voice to a soothing tone. The one he had used on the survivors after the Kvatch seige, "You won't go to prison. I'll take care of everything."

"You keep saying that. How can you believe it's true?"

"You'll see." He turned the boy around. He wasn't crying but his eyes were shining more than ever. It was the closest Martin had yet come to seeing him cry and the most emotion he had ever seen from him, "Come on. It gets even colder at night."

He pulled the distressed boy from the stable and was met by Baurus, who was loitering around the door. Baurus cast his knowing eye over Lucien and Martin felt at once that it was going to be alright. The Redguard would see that the boy was sorry and would hopefully come to his defence if it came to it. Of course, Lucien could not see that and probably still thought he was going to his doom by the way he was still quivering.

Jauffre was being healed by Jena and Captain Steffan had his sword at the other stranger's throat. When they entered the hall, everyone stiffened and there was a general movement of hands reaching for swords, "Stop." Martin was glad that he had found some authority to use in his voice, "He won't hurt any of us. He's an old friend of mine and there's just been a misunderstanding. Steffan, release him."

The captain obeyed and sullenly marched from the hall. Much to Martin's relief, no one else was in the hall except Jena and Jauffre and he hoped that Steffan would have the good sense to pass the word onto the others. Turning to Lucien with a smile, he found that the boy's eyes were now wide and his mouth was hanging open. Nudging him a little, Martin muttered,

"You'd better apologise to Jauffre."

Nodding distractedly, Lucien found his sword still on the floor, knelt before it and prostrated himself like someone from Akavir, "I am very sorry. I have no excuse for my actions."

Jauffre looked a little surprised but seemed to accept this,

"What now, sire?" Baurus asked from the side,

"I think me and Lucien would like to get reacquianted alone, if you don't mind."

"Alright." Martin gave an inward sigh of relief. At least, Lucien wasn't in danger anymore and, if all went well, Jauffre would leave them too. Luck was on his side, as the Grandmaster retreated to his quarters once he had been healed. Martin gave a small sigh of relief once the door had been closed,

"Say, Brother Martin."

"Yes?"

"Those soldiers called you sire and obey your orders." All traces of distress had gone and instead, he fixed Martin with a rather bewildered expression, "Am I missing something?"

"Like I said, long story."

When that long story was over, Lucien's eyes were wide once more, though the silent stranger looked rather nonplussed, "_You_ are the heir to the Septim line?" It was as if saying it would make it seem more logical to Lucien,

"I was just as surprised as you are when I was told."

In the time it took for Lucien to fully comprehend this, Martin spent it rememorising his old friend's face. He could still find nothing that belonged to Lavinia except for the skin colour. The cheeks were not as pinched, there was a little colour in them, the lips were pale and the eyes unshadowed. He wondered vaguely how his hair had got so long; the thin pigtail came past his waist and pooled slightly in his lap as he sat crosslegged on the bench,

"Anyway," Martin finally said, "you know my story. Now, what's yours?"

"Nothing as interesting."

"That doesn't matter. Did you live in Akavir?"

"I stayed there for a year. Before then, I was taken under the wing of a man who initiated me into a very secretive guild that you would not know or want to know about." Martin's stomach dropped. That was the same kind of thing Lavinia would say when she was talking about Dark Brotherhood activities, _Surely not..._Then again, the rumour was that, when you murdered someone, the Dark Brotherhood came in your sleep to recruit you. But, did it count if the person deserved it? If the murdered person had hurt the potential recruit? Then again, Raeniel had certainly had it coming and Lavinia was still recruited,

"This person," He said, cutting across whatever Lucien had to say next, "who was he?"

"Like I said, a member of the guild into which I was initiated. It was either that or make a living in the wild while being chased by soldiers. I did what was required of me," It chilled his blood to hear Lucien speak in such an emotionless manner about horrible murders, "and my employer became quite fond of me. Therefore, he took me on a year-long stay in Akavir a year after I joined.

"I liked Akavir. We were invited to stay with a rich mer who was visiting as well a week into our stay. I still do not know his name but he took a particular interest in me for a reason he would not give. He would frequently request my presence in his private chamber and only then would he show his face."

Martin seized this opportunity to get away from the awful conclusion that Lucien was an assassin and pressed him for more information,

"The people of Akavir called him Ou Ka'Mi. It means wolf, since he wears a wolf-skull over his face most of the time. Only when he was alone with me did he reveal his face."

"Did he say why?"

"No, he always avoided the issue. Still, he took a liking to me and took control of my training. He seemed especially interested in my birthmarks."

"Birthmarks?"

"Yes. I never showed you, did I?"

He pulled down his sleeve and showed him darkened skin around his wrists in a spiky pattern like Aylied war-marks. With his hair pulled back, he could also see wing-shaped marks on his temples too. The exact same ones as the ones Lavinia had. At last, he had found something of Lavinia in her son,

"You seem rather interested in them too." Lucien's voice snapped him back to reality again, "Your face is the same as his was when he saw them."

"Is it?" Martin wondered how he was going to break the news of who his mother was to Lucien and remembered with trepidation how much Lucien hated the thought of his mother, _But, when he knows the circumstances, he'll warm up to her...won't he?_ Even in his head, the idea sounded stupid. Lucien had probably hated his mother all his life and would not be swayed just because Martin said so. It put him in a bad mood just talking about her so he probably wouldn't be able to get the words out anyway.

Instead, he looked up at the motionless stranger, "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"Farwil Indarys." The change in his voice startled him. It was now a normal Dunmer one and, when he got closer, he realised that the eye that wasn't covered by the mark had turned a normal red. His face didn't even look the same. He didn't have that cold authority now and he looked almost boyish, "Your Highness." He added, as an afterthought,

"Farwil Indarys? Didn't you disappear a few months ago?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"He has been travelling with me for the last few days." Lucien cut in, "I was told where to find him and I discovered we both have a similar aim."

"What do you mean?" He could sense that tone of voice again that told him he was getting dangerously close to talking about the Dark Brotherhood. His brain filled with awful possibilities that he didn't want to think about again. Even after all this time, considering what kind of things the Dark Brotherhood did scared him,

"It's alright, boy." Farwil's voice suddenly changed back to the Imperial one without warning. His eyes changed back to black, his face lost its boyishness and he even seemed to tense a little, as though expecting an attack, "He knows about the Hero of Kvatch's involvement in the Dark Brotherhood. Let us hope he can forgive you for your involvement as easily as he forgave her."

Lucien's face coloured as his secret was revealed and he couldn't meet his friend's eye. However, Martin knew it would not do any of them good to reject him for it. His Septim's instinct as well as his own judgement made him say, "So, you're an assassin?"

Only a nod came from the boy,

"I see." Martin tried to act as though he had just found out Lucien had changed his hairstyle, "So, what's this 'similar aim' you both have?"

"We both need to see the Listener." Farwil finally sat down next to Lucien, fixing Martin with dark eyes, "As you may have guessed, the one speaking to you now is not Farwil. You have met me before in one of your dreams. I am the Obsidia."

The memory crashed back into his head of a cloaked, dark-eyed ghost that was Lucien's double, apart from the pale skin,

"So, you remember me, then? Good. I branded Farwil with the mark of the Black Hand and possessed." He gestured needlessly and completely casually at the disfigurement. Martin's training as a priest made him think of the exorcisms described in many books though he had never performed one and didn't want to start now. His Septim's instinct was telling him not to try.

Besides, he only learned about possessed people who spoke in tongues and madly contorted their bodies, certainly not those who spoke normally but against their will, like the Obsidia was doing right now, "I used his body to perform a few vital tasks and then left it for Lucien to find. Of course, Farwil isn't very happy with my presence in his body. He's certainly not happy with me controlling it like I am now. I can hear his thoughts in the back of my head right now."

Martin swallowed. He remembered seeing a person who heard voices once. A mad, drooling man more beast than human, controlled by whatever the voices in his head were saying and needing to be caged at all times,

"So, he wants to see the Listener to see if there's anything that can be done to get rid of me. I'll humour him for now. His desires coincide with my goals, after all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I let Farwil speak."

Farwil returned, slumping with relief at having his body back under his control, "Sorry about that, Your Highness. I can't control when he's going to take over."

Martin tried to put on an indifferent face but, if he didn't have to control himself, he could have been trembling with fright.

* * *

A/N: Ah, even Septim's instinct can't save you from being scared!


	41. Chapter 40: Hunting the Hero

A/N: My first year at uni is coming to an end at last!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Never fear. I intend to bring Lavinia back soon!

**Commentaholic: **Oh, I'd be honoured if you did!

**Lunatic Pandora1: **You think so? Then again, spending a lot of time with Lavinia would make you a bit tougher.

**Arty Thrip: **Thanks for the reviews! Hope things become a bit clearer in this chapter.

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 40: Hunting the Hero**

_Arquen_

_Dear Speaker Arquen,_

_ It is of utmost importance that you accompany me to Cloud Ruler Temple the next time I visit. Meet me in the Jerall View Inn. I cannot specify a time but follow me when I come._

_ The Listener_

It was the Listener's usual method of writing alright: short, to the point and giving away no details, even if they were vital ones. And, it was the Listener's handwriting too. That spiky, uneven scrawl that made no two of the same letters look alike was hers alone. Yet, Arquen was very wary of it. The Listener never asked her to accompany her without the rest of the Black Hand anywhere. She would normally pick Haecuba for whatever reason when she went out.

This made her think that this must be something bad. The two had not met since the Listener's true identity had been revealed and Arquen wished that encounter had not happened. Maybe she was still in trouble for being too nosy. Maybe the Listener had noticed that she had found Bellamont's diary (it still gave her the creeps to think about it) and had come to punish her for it. Whatever the reason, Arquen was not looking forward to meeting with the Listener. As she sat at a lonely table in the Jerall View Inn, she stared at the parchment like it was an angry poisonous spider.

Luckily, no one bothered her until a hooded figure entered the bar and beckoned to Arquen in such a subtle way that the drunken Nords never noticed it, _They probably didn't even notice her come in, they're so drunk._ Arquen thought, scornfully, as one of them fell on the table she once sat at, making it split in half underneath him.

Ignoring the innkeeper's cries of, "Third time this week! I hope the daedra drag you into an Oblivion gate next time they come and save me having to buy new tables!", Arquen followed the smaller figure. She didn't speak, of course. She never did and the same awkward nervousness that always accompanied the Listener gripped her. Perhaps even more so, because she knew she wasn't in favour at the moment.

Out of Bruma, they went. Not even stopping to visit Burd (though, she had probably done it before coming here since he would be higher than Arquen on her list of priorities). The snow storms had stopped and light, bearable snow was falling from the white sky. The remains of the Oblivion gate was completely cooled and beginning to crumble like an old fort. The remains of the daedra had been flung in a pit and burned long ago. The ground was now covered by snow and would probably remain there for all eternity since the Bruma snow never melted.

The Listener gave no explanation as usual and Arquen found herself becoming interested with the milk thistle sprouts poking out of the snow just so she wasn't tempted to try talking to her. That could result in nothing good. She didn't want the Listener to explode in her face again. Though the Listener had never laid a finger on any of her Dark Brothers or Sisters, the possibility was beginning to solidify in her head and her dagger now felt like a twig compared to those sack-cloth wrapped claymores on her back.

The path began to steepen and Arquen dragged herself from her milk thistle fascination to watching out for ice on the path, _Doesn't anyone know how to clear paths properly? Surely, there must be some way of doing it that doesn't leave ice._ The fear of the Listener was lessening slightly, to be replaced by the fear of broken legs. It had been so long since she had condemned herself to having clumsy, overlong legs.

Just as they were halfway up, the ground suddenly became smooth underneath her without any warning and almost made her fall down back down the mountain. The Listener had very timely whipped round and grabbed her wrist to prevent her fall. Once the Altmer had righted herself, she opened her mouth to thank her companion but she was walking up the mountain in front of her now that the distraction was over. Arquen knew that any attempt at thanks would probably be ignored so she held her tongue.

As the path took a sharp turn, Arquen gasped as a large wall appeared before her. As they got closer, she realised that it was connected to an enormous, imposing fortress. The very same kind that only Speakers or very talented Silencers were put in charge of infiltrating. That is what she thought they were going to do at first. Perhaps this hid the ragged scraps of the Mythic Dawn. The only few escaped members of the organisation that the Dark Brotherhood had obliterated all through the Oblivion crisis.

All these ideas were put to bed when the Listener called up to the blurred dark shapes on top of the gate that were the guards, making Arquen jump so violently that she almost fell over again, "Open the gates, Blades!"

There was a pause. Then, a male voice called back, "When will you come out of shadow?"

"Nevermore."

Arquen belatedly realised that this was a security question, probably exclusive only to the Listener, as the guards suddenly became friendly, "Welcome, Hero of Kvatch! Open the gates, boys! Somebody call the Grandmaster!"

The large gates, heavier-looking than the ones at the Imperial City, slowly edged apart, pulled by about three servants a gate. The Listener had the good grace to slip through them as soon as the gap was wide enough rather than let them slog away for probably hours trying to them fully open. The servants were very glad to get them closed, slumping unashamedly on the ground as they got their breath back.

Again, Arquen cursed her slow thinking for not realised that this must be Cloud Ruler Temple, the fortress of the Blades that held the heir to the throne and where only the Listener came. After yet more climbing (this time, a great flight of mercifully dry steps), they came out on a small courtyard before the temple itself. Soldiers patrolled along the walls and a few hardy (or very stupid) men practised their swordwork in the biting cold.

It was so strange to come into such a well revered and guarded building with permission, to walk in plain sight of the guards without being chased but the strangest thing of all to Arquen was that everyone was greeting them graciously, _Well, they're greeting the Listener._ She amended in her head, as a female Blade with a snow-white face saluted with a, "Welcome back, milady!"

The Listener walked on by with a queenly disregard as always. A few other Blades greeted her like this, which she graciously ignored. When they reached the doors, a balding Breton Blade wearing a longer katana than usual on his back and with relief in his aspect came out,

"Thank Talos you're back."

"Is there something wrong, Grandmaster Jauffre?"

_So, this is the Grandmaster._ He looked a bit too old to fight to Arquen but appearances did not make a person. The Listener proved that reasoning,

More wrinkles appeared on the Grandmaster's face and he moved a hand over his bald head as though there was still hair on it, "Two men came here, demanding to see you. When I refused them, they would not leave. Martin wanted me to let them in and I had to obey. I know," He added, at the look of Arquen's aghast expression. She knew Martin to be the heir that was so closely protected and, already, he seemed like an idiot. What kind of fool would let in a pair of strangers when he was supposed to be in hiding? "I didn't like it either but they haven't tried to attack him yet. Martin even says that one of them's an old friend of his."

_That still isn't any reason to let him near you._ Arquen thought, at once. She knew all too well how friends could turn foul, as the face of a dark-eyed Breton she would rather forget drifted into her mind,

"Let us see them."

Again, cold, quick professionalism. Without another word, Jauffre led them into the hall. Arquen found it hard to take her eyes of the many swords hanging from the ceiling, _What kind of idiot hangs swords from the rafters point down? What kind of idiots think swords are good decoration anyway? These Blades must be more violent than I heard._

Jauffre approached an Imperial man in a plain priest's robe, conversing with two people whose faces were thrown into shadow by the fire, "Your Highness. The Hero of Kvatch has returned."

"Thanks, Jauffre." _So, that Imperial's the heir, is he? Hmm...rather plain looking thing at that. He probably doesn't need all this security around him. He could easily blend into a crowd._ The people he was with, on the other hand, certainly could not. Their faces were half-covered and their eyes were dark. Arquen could not recognise either of them at the moment,

"This is Arquen." The Listener gestured to her, "One of the higher people in my guild."

_So, even the Blades don't know they're accepting help from the Dark Brotherhood._ Arquen had to fight a smirk when she imagined the look on the Grandmaster's face when he found out, "Nice to meet you." _Well, at least he's polite._

"Nice to meet you too, Your Highness." She nearly forgot that part and it sounded so strange saying it to someone dressed like this. It was like addressing a stablehand like that,

"So, this is the Hero of Kvatch?" The suspicious men finally stood. It was only then did Arquen recognise the long braided hair, dark eyes that did not belong on a Dunmer and the Akaviri robe. It was Raven, Banus' Silencer. Surely Banus would not have allowed his beloved mute Silencer to wonder so far from his sight, _Or, he could have run off. Anyone would get sick of him after a while, _"A pleasure. I am Raven, Silencer under Speaker Alor."

Arquen's eyes widened. She had thought it was the other man who had spoken before but the deep, Imperial-like voice was clearly coming from behind Raven's handkerchief, "I thought you were mute!" Arquen burst out, before she could stop herself. The boy gave her a withering glare, not unlike the one the Listener so loved to give,

"I was for a while and I found it was simpler to continue being mute. Silence is much more preferable over meaningless words."

_He's a strange little thing, _was Arquen's immediate thought. Then again, this idea was very sensible when it came to Banus. Talking to him only encouraged his insanity after all,

"You're not her."

The other stranger glared at the Listener with one Dunmer-scarlet eye. The other was covered by a makeshift eyepatch made out of a scarf. That was all she could see of his face,

"I'm sorry?" The Listener turned her invisible gaze on him but he was not deterred in the slightest. Jauffre too looked round from talking to a young Redguard Blade,

"You're not Lavinia."

"How _dare_ you say that!" Arquen snapped at him, _The nerve! He's probably never seen her before!_

"Yes, yes!" Jauffre piped up, marching over with angry wrinkles appearing on his forehead, "She answered the security question correctly when she was let in so I say that she is."

"It's obvious!" protested the one-eyed stranger, his voice starting to rise, "She doesn't look anything like Lavinia!"

"Enough!" Jauffre's voice rose too, "I don't have to listen to your nonsense!"

"Please, Grandmaster." It came from the Listener's mouth and yet it was an entirely different voice altogether. More emotional, less deep and having no quiet authority, "He is correct."

The whole hall was silent. Arquen stared at the imposter beside her, hardly daring to believe she had fallen for such a trick, _And, that this girl is foolish enough to just say it aloud!_ Before anyone could move, Arquen had her dagger out and pointing it at the imposter's throat,

"Show us your face." She snarled, coldly, "Tell us who you are so we know who to send your head to."

"No, wait!" Martin raised his hands, his startling blue eyes widening, but Arquen ignored him. She wasn't going to listen to someone who let in strangers who always concealed their faces like they were good friends,

"Lower your dagger, please, Speaker Arquen." She put back her hood. It was a rather short Altmer with dark hair tied back in a ponytail with a stubby braid on either side of her face, a face painted purple to look like the Listener's and sea-blue eyes. But, it was those caterpillar-like eyebrows that gave her away,

"_Haecuba?_"

It looked like 'the worst assassin' (as she was known between Arquen and Sylvia) but acted nothing like her. She was not nervous and did not quiver or fidget before her Speaker like she always would,

"I am sorry for deceiving you, Grandmaster Jauffre." She turned to the Breton, who had just laid a hand on his katana, "This was my mistress' will. I am Haecuba, her servant. Though," She amended aloud, "she does not like to call me that."

To Arquen, this was just uncalled-for arrogance. It didn't matter that it came from the least likely person, it was still unacceptable, "Explain yourself, now!" She snarled, pressing the dagger further towards her neck, "And, don't give me that nonsense about the Hero of Kvatch giving you orders! Might I remind you that you are the lowest of us and she wouldn't care about you for a second! This is an affront to our guild that no one with any pride or shame would ever think of doing! Now, give your excuse so I can finally stop you being a burden to us all!"

"No, it's true, Arquen." The idiot heir stepped forward, "She replaced Lavinia months ago."

"She did." The Redguard Blade, who seemed completely unsurprised by this turn of events, "You never fooled me for a second, Haecuba."

"I didn't expect to." She gave a polite nod and accepted the wet cloth he gave her to wipe off that disgusting purple paint on her face, "My mistress told me all about how observant you were."

"What happened, Your Highness?" Jauffre finally let go of his sword, though Arquen kept her dagger firm in her hand, "Why didn't you inform me?"

"Lavinia didn't want me to. She didn't want anyone to know." A tired kind of despair came into his face, "I thought it was only going to be for a few days at first. But, I haven't heard a word from her for months."

"Neither have I." Haecuba's face darkened too, "I would search for her if I wasn't so caught up with Oblivion Gates."

"Oblivion Gates?" Now, this was just too much. Arquen had no time or inclination to stop herself; she just burst out laughing. Her dagger was taken from the stupid thing's throat but she didn't care. The picture of Haecuba quaking before a mile-high Oblivion gate and her trying fruitlessly to put a scratch on a small Scamp made her weak with mirth, "You...closing O-Oblivion Gates? Y-you're trying to tell me that you've been closing Oblivion Gates for months? Oh, oh, let me guess. You've been trying to close the same one for months, right?"

A slight scowl appeared on Haecuba's face, as well as Martin's. All Arquen cared about was that her stomach was hurting because she was laughing so hard. Raven marched to Haecuba's side, "Stop now. This isn't becoming of a Speaker."

But, Arquen's laughter didn't listen to any commands to stop. She doubled up in helpless mirth and lost so much awareness of reality that she didn't notice her dagger slipping from her hand although the grip was still tight-

_THUNK!_

Her laughter abruptly stopped, to be replaced with utter fear and mortification. Her dagger shuddered in its place, sunk into the wooden beam a few inches away from her head. It took her a few astonished seconds to work out what had happened. The hilt was glowing slightly purple like Haecuba's outstretched fingers, _Telekinesis..._

"Raven is right. This isn't becoming of a Speaker." Her voice was low and dangerous, "You never let me have contracts nowadays so how do you know I haven't got better?"

Arquen felt her cheeks flush. Indeed, she hadn't given Haecuba a contract in over ten years and never liked to be in her company. How long had she been training? Haecuba went on, never changing her tone,

"I have closed nearly forty Oblivion Gates successfully by using my talents in magic, including the one I had just come from." She produced a marble-sized grey and red ball. A Sigil Stone, "I have been serving the empire in my mistress' place as she ordered me to. That is the simple truth, Speaker."

There was a terrible silence. The Listener had obviously taught Haecuba how to make people feel scolded without having to raise her voice. Her stare didn't freeze her in place but made her break out in a cold sweat nonetheless. It was only for a few seconds but it was enough to shatter every view Arquen had of the once meek and useless Haecuba.

Then, she looked away, making Arquen's lungs unfreeze and a great gust of air she didn't know she was holding rush out, "How did you know I wasn't my mistress?" She addressed the still-cloaked stranger. It was starting to get very irritating to just look at dark cloth rather than a face. She had no idea what was underneath and that annoyed her. Still, she knew better than to investigate now,

"She's smaller than you, for one." The man stated, as though this was obvious. Arquen didn't think there was more than two inches between Haecuba and the Listener, "And, thinner. And, her voice is a little higher, you were trying too hard. And, your lips are the wrong shape. Apart from that, everything was perfect."

Haecuba's eyebrows furrowed, putting them in danger of merging into one, "You must know her very well if you are able to pick out those mistakes."

"Well..." The man became awkward, scratching the back of his hood, "I, er, met her a few times."

"Must have been more than a few times." The Redguard Blade chipped in, "Even I couldn't pick out those differences."

"Just who are you, anyway?" The Grandmaster finally unfroze. Though he was not raring for a fight, he was still not completely at ease, "I know this one but I don't know anything about you."

Again, the man became awkward, not meeting anyone's eye. After about ten seconds that seemed more like ten minutes, Haecuba stepped forward, "I think I know who you are, Sir Knight."

He gave the smallest of jumps at the nickname. Then, finally giving in, he pulled off his cloak. He was more a boy than a man. A young Dunmer with dark blue-black hair and dusty blue skin. He was blushing purple at all the attention and looking to the side with his uncovered eye. It wasn't just his eye that was covered, either. It was the whole side of his face.

The Redguard failed to look very surprised again, _Is he ever really shocked? Maybe, he's one of their informants._ "Farwil Indarys, right?"

Arquen and Jauffre jumped, _The Farwil Indarys the Listener instructed us to search for?_ "Yes." The boy nodded, "I was hoping to meet with the Hero of Kvatch." He looked Arquen dead in the eye, "The Listener."

Arquen had to stifle a gasp, _He knows!_ That brought the people who knew of the Hero of Kvatch's involvement in the Dark Brotherhood to a very uncomfortable total. The Wrath of Sithis would have dealt with any loose-lipped assassin but there had been no reports of that happening, _So, how did all these people find out? I need to find the source quickly and destroy it!_

"What business do you have with her?" It was Haecuba who spoke this time and Arquen couldn't help feeling sour that she could be more authoritative than her Speaker now, _How am I going to keep everyone in line now? That Altmer, she'll ruin everything!_

"This." Farwil raised a hand and pulled off the eyepatch. What met her eyes made her leap back before she could restrain herself,

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded, pointing a shaky finger at his branded face. It was unmistakably the Black Hand, _First, outsiders know our leader and now an outsider is branded with our mark!_ Just as she thought she'd seen it all, she was proved wrong.

Farwil closed his eyes for a moment and, when they opened, they were both jet black. That wasn't the only change; his posture became more relaxed and even arrogant, "Am I going to get this reaction every time someone sees this?" His voice was not his, either, but deep and with many dramatic pauses. Though she had thought she had long forgotten, the owner of a voice that drifted back into her head. As though reading her mind, a smirk spread across Farwil's face (if it could be called his anymore), "Oh, come now. It may have twenty years but you visit me every year, reminding yourself of how I screamed under your dagger."

Jauffre was backing away, staring at this phenomenon. The Redguard stood his ground but his eyes were wide with horror. Haecuba too stood still with an expression of slight surprise on her face. Martin and Raven both looked uninterested, like they had seen this a dozen times before.

Arquen swallowed hard. She did remember but she didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to believe that Lachance was back, possessing this boy and speaking through him. It was bad enough reminding herself of her mistake every year. She looked away, trying to avoid those unnatural black eyes. A sinister chuckle split the silence,

"Trying to convince yourself I'm not here, hmm? You always had a knack for getting the wrong idea. Come on, look at me. You're a grown woman and a Speaker. I'd expect this kind of cowardly behaviour from Belisarius, not you."

Scowling, she glared back, feeling her cheeks flush, "What do _you_ want?"

"A bit of courtesy, for a start. I am not here for a social reunion, you know, as nice as that would be. I am here to guide you to Lavinia. We need her here in order to put a stop to this insane Oblivion crisis."

"You know where she is?" Martin stepped forward, showing more bravery than Arquen expected of him,

"Yes, and I intend to lead you, Raven, Haecuba and, well I suppose Arquen too. Tell me, Haecuba, why did you bring her along?"

The Altmer gave an awkward smile, "Ah, this is going to sound like I'm insane but, when I was in an inn after closing an Oblivion gate, the mirror cracked. When I went to see what had done it, I cut myself on one of the shards and ended up smearing the blood on the glass. Then, in the mirror, I didn't see my reflection but a blood-soaked vampire."

Arquen had heard only myths and rumours about this: the way the Bloodguard was summoned by smearing blood upon a mirror. But, she was sure there was some kind of incantation to be done as well,

"He told me to go to Cloud Ruler Temple at once and take Speaker Arquen with me."

"Vicente," snarled Lachance to himself, "I knew he'd find some way to interfere with my plans and irritate me. He did that just to spite me, I'd wager..."

_So, he still doesn't like me. Even death didn't change that._

"Anyway, I suppose it cannot be avoided. No doubt Arquen would find some way of following us if we didn't let her accompany our group."

"Wait!" Jauffre cried, "I cannot allow Martin out of Cloud Ruler Temple!"

"It's not a question as to whether you will allow him or not." Lachance's voice was low and threatening, "He needs to come with us, understand?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't!" The Grandmaster's face was turning red, "I find it very hard to trust a spirit who possesses innocent people!"

"If you do not trust him, then trust me." Haecuba stepped between the two of them as though sensing an argument, "If the others fail to protect him, I will give my life for him. Even if he was hurt, I am a capable healer and will be able to cure any ailment or injury. That is my solemn word, Grandmaster Jauffre."

"And, you have mine, as well." Raven too strode to her side, "I too have dabbled in dealing with these Gates and will be able to fight anything that comes our way. Martin is my beloved and only friend and I swear upon my life that no harm will come to him."

The Redguard's eyes flashed when Raven mentioned he had been closing Oblivion Gates too, _He probably suspected that as well. Damn it, I still don't know his name! Does Banus know what his Silencer gets up to? I can't see him letting the boy wonder into the Plain of Oblivion without a word. _"I think he'll be alright, Grandmaster. These people know what they're doing."

Jauffre still looked torn. Finally, after much dithering, he nodded, "Very well. But, do not waste any time. As soon as you have located Lavinia, bring her back here at once and I want you all back safe and sound!"

_Martin  
_

They still couldn't leave straight away, even though his Septim's instinct was begging him to get moving. Ever since Martin woke up that morning, he knew something was wrong. Something bad had happened, was happening or was about to happen. This left him very anxious and unable to sit still. The walls of Cloud Ruler Temple felt painfully solid and restricting, when he should be wherever the bad thing was happening.

He had confided to Lucien about this that morning. It was a true mark of Lucien as a friend that he didn't think Martin was going mad (or, at least, didn't show it). Instead, he consoled Martin with the notion that it was too early to know what it was and some hint or sign would come soon.

Now it had come in the form of Haecuba and Arquen (he still felt nervous whenever she cast her critical eye over him), his Septim's instinct was even stronger. The opportunity to leave the stifling temple was in his grasp; he felt like running down the steps and straight out the gate. Still, he had to wait for everyone to get ready. Spare horses and a cart had to brought in. Shadowmere could not be trusted to pull it so another, more docile animal was brought in to do the job.

Martin waited restlessly for them to be ready in the Main Hall. Lucien stayed behind as his companion. It was very touching to know that Lucien considered him a 'beloved friend' and so the time he spent in Lucien's presence was even more reassuring.

Then, a new problem arose. How to tell Lucien that he was going to meet his mother for the first time. He did not like the idea of Lavinia telling him upon their first meeting. Knowing how much Lucien hated the idea of his mother, he would probably lash out and reject her without listening to her explanation. No, he had to be prepared in advance for the meeting.

He felt like asking Haecuba to relate the story but remembered Lavinia's wish that the Speakers were not to know about her son. If he asked Haecuba on the journey, Arquen was sure to be listening in. Martin felt himself almost agreeing with the Obsidia's annoyance at the Speaker's presence, _No, I'll have to do this myself._

Taking a deep breath, he looked Lucien right in the eyes and began to speak slowly, not trusting himself to start gabbling if he didn't keep himself under control, "Lucien, about your mother..."

His face became sour at once. Now that he was unveiled, he could see his lips purse in irritation, "Do not talk about her. The matter is settled. I know her."

"No," He shook his head, beginning to realise that he had not planned what he would say, "you don't. I mean, you've never met her. You've never even seen her. How do you know what she's like?"

"I know what she will be like." Lucien's voice was firm, wanting to close the matter at that point, "A shameless whore, a drinker probably, who would sooner sell her babies for her own benefit-"

"_No!_" Martin's voice rose. Hearing it now and knowing who he was talking about made fury rise inside him, _How dare he! He doesn't know a thing about her!_ "_She's not anything like that!_"

Lucien actually flinched and raised an eyebrow at Martin's shout. His eyes hardened, "Do you presume to tell me about her? Perhaps, you met her in some side alley. Really, Martin, I thought you had more shame than that."

Martin opened his mouth for another shout but, before he could get the words out, a voice identical to Lucien's cut across him, "Shouting won't do any good, Your Highness." Farwil came in, his eyes dark and clearly letting the Obsidia speak through him, "He will need to be shown proof that he is wrong in his assumptions of her."

A hand disappeared in his cloak and came back out holding a sheathed elven shortsword. One that looked rather familiar to Martin but he couldn't identify it. Lucien scowled at the sight of it, "Throw that piece of rubbish away." He spat,

"If you really wanted to be rid of it," The Obsidia's voice was sly, clearly thinking he was being clever, "you would have thrown it away years ago."

No retort came. Only a look of suppressed rage on Lucien's still-scarred face,

"What is it?" Martin asked, "Didn't you have that when you were a priest?"

"It was bequethed to him when he was given to the priests at the Bravil chapel by his mother." The blade was laid on the table, "I believe he had never drawn it."

"It's probably useless if it has not been drawn then."

"Lucien, draw it." The Obsidia's eyes glared into Lucien's identically-coloured ones, "Now."

There was a silence. Then, with a mutinous expression on his face, Lucien reached for the hilt and pulled it free from the sheath, "I knew it." Lucien shook his head, holding it up. Half of it was missing, broken off by something, and the edges were rusting, "Useless. She was probably drunk enough to think it was still usable."

It was all Martin could do to stop himself rising again,

"Perhaps," The Obsidia was now using a tone that implied that he was trying to give Lucien a little push in the right direction, "it was not meant to be used. Perhaps, it was a message."

Lucien frowned and reluctantly began inspecting it. By the look on his face, he probably thought that he was only wasting his time, "The only message here is how stupid a gift this is." He stated, stubbornly,

"Here, let me show you." With that, he reached out and began to twist the top of the hilt. Remarkably, it began to spin and come loose, like a screw. Finally, it was pulled free, revealing the hilt to be hollow apart from something inside that Martin couldn't see until the thing was tipped upside down.

A yellowish-brown roll of parchment that had probably not seen sunlight for decades fell out, tied with a dull ribbon which could have been any colour. Rather then being curious, Lucien still kept his determination to hate his mother, "This won't contain anything useful. It's rubbish." He turned towards the fire,

"No!" cried Martin and the Obsidia at the same time,

"Very well!" Lucien snarled, exasperatedly, "I'll read the damn thing if it'll make you two stop bothering me about the woman."

The ribbon was pulled loose and the letter finally, after years of isolation, was unfurled. Martin read the spiky scrawl that was only Lavinia's over his shoulder,

_Dearest Lucien Polixones Harla,_

_ You're only a few weeks old and you're sleeping on my lap as I write this. I never want to let you go. If I had it my way, I would lock myself away from the world with only you for company and reject all other friends. But, I can't. I can't. I can say it over and over again but I still cannot accept it. Your godmother, Haecuba, who saved me from miscarrying you, has tried her utmost to make me change my mind but nothing she can say can change the facts. I am too dangerous for you. If you live with me, you will endure nothing but hardship and misfortune._

_ You'll be forgiven, when you've grown up and you read this, for hating me. In fact, I expect it. What kind of mother would leave her first-born child, after all? Even if this does not make you forgive me, I want you to know my explanation anyway._

_ I am an assassin. In fact, I am the HIGHEST assassin in Cyrodiil. I am the newly-appointed leader of the Dark Brotherhood. Not for my skills but for dealing with a problem that the others couldn't. When I was a lower assassin, I married my Speaker. A wonderful Imperial man who I just had to name you after: Lucien Lachance. I hope you grow up to look like him._

_ He was killed by his own Brothers for a crime he didn't commit and left me a widow. I only found out I was pregnant with you after he was dead and just after I became leader. It's common sense that the Dark Brotherhood is no place for a child so I tried to hide from them. Running from assassins is no mean feat and, after a month, I admitted defeat._

_ Still, I hid my pregnancy from my fellows and only Haecuba, who is a lower assassin, knew you existed. I dread to imagine what would happen if they found out I was bearing the child of someone they killed as a traitor. I fled when I could not hide it any longer and delivered you in secret._

_ You must hate me so much for leaving you. I know you do. Anyone would in that position. I know I may never see you again, no matter how much I want to. Giving you up will be the worst moment of my life and I will live on, never forgetting you or forgiving myself. However, if you want to see me (I won't blame you if you don't), then leave a white handprint on the door of the Bravil chapel. I will come within a week so stay there until I come._

_ Even if you never want to see me, I will not hate you. I refuse to hate you. Even though leaving you will cause me pain, I will never hate you for it. All I have for you is love, the kind only a mother can have for her son. I love you, Lucien. I love you._

_ Lavinia Portia Harla xxx_

_ Listener of the Dark Brotherhood_

_ P.S: You were also named after your grandfather, my father, Polixones Harla._

Martin heard a small choking sound when he finished reading it. Looking around, he saw Lucien with his hands over his face. Martin hastily put an arm around him, realising what a blow this must be to him,

"She's always checked the chapel door, you know." The Obsidia's voice was low and serious, "She will never stop."

Lucien swallowed hard and tried unsuccessfully to talk steadily, "Am I right...in saying that my mother is the one...the one we are searching for?"

"Yeah." Martin nodded.

The letter was rolled up and placed in the shortsword again. Lucien managed to calm himself and wipe away the tears before turning to the door, "I want to see her." He said, at once, "I want to see her with my own eyes so badly."


	42. Chapter 41: The Final Secret

A/N: Another fast update because I'm going to be at a relative's house tomorrow and won't be able to update.

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yeah, fate can be a b-word sometimes.

**Commentaholic: **Oh, that's just English spelling. English people tend to use 's' in places where Americans would put 'z'. That's the only main difference between our vocabulary I've found.

**Arty Thrip:** That's what I was aiming for - to have a story about a great heroine that's told from every POV except hers. Just a little experiment of mine. I think it's working rather well.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Great! I was really trying to get that right.

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 41: The Final Secret**

_Farwil_

_So, that's your son, is it?_

"_Yes._" He could tell the Obsidia was nodding wherever he was, as Lucien stared at Farwil's brand. Lucien had worked out that Farwil was indeed possessed by his father before they had left Cloud Ruler Temple. Now, the only one who didn't know Lucien's real identity was Arquen, who was made to steer the horse with instructions from the Obsidia to steer them to Bravil so that the others could talk with a bit more privacy, "_Though, I must admit, it was quite a shock when I found out. I've been called many things in my time: Speaker, Child of Sithis, heartless assassin, talented painter but father? Never saw that one coming._"

_How did everyone else react?_

"_Oh, the girls were very excited. Even female assassins get wound up at the prospect of a baby, it seems. As do some other people I would like to mention._" His voice became suddenly dark and Farwil knew he was hinting at something,

_Who?_

"_The grandfather of the child._"  
_What, Polixones Harla?_

The Obsidia provided him a memory of the ghostly, invisible-to-mortals Obsidia in the middle of a corridor. Another ghost appeared beside him. One with a long dark pigtail like Lucien's and purple skin like Lavinia. This ghost looked rather serious and he jabbed a finger at the nervous Obsidia, "You, come here." said the ghost. Farwil could feel the Obsidia's increasing anxiety as he approached the man, "You got my daughter's attention, made her lose her virginity _and_ knocked her up in the process. Right, I've only one thing to say to you."

Farwil didn't know whether it was his own nerves or the Obsidia's affecting him as Lavinia's father paused. Then, his face split into a wide grin,

"Great job!" There was no time to feel relief or shock before the Obsidia was pulled into a bear-hug, "The Harla dynasty will live on! C'mere! Who's your daddy, huh? Who's your daddy?" He got the Obsidia in a headlock and began rubbing the top of his head so hard that his hair began flying out of its ponytail, the Obsidia trying to struggle free all the while.

Farwil sniggered at the sight. He was beginning to like Polixones Harla already and it was always funny to see someone as dark and imposing as the Obsidia being dominated like that,

"Like I said, he got very excited over the prospect of being a grandfather_. _It was a relief when I possessed you since he can't get to me!"

The memory suddenly became a picture floating in darkness like an illuminated portrait. No, it was an illuminated portrait hanging on a stone wall in what looked like a very familiar underground room. All mirth ceasing, Farwil stared around what looked like the Obsidia's old art studio,

"What's this?" He asked a dark corner of the room where he knew the Obsidia was lurking. Disgruntled at his dramatic entrance being ruined, he stepped out,

"Just the part of your mind where I've made myself at home. Do you like what I've done with the place?"

"Wait, wait, how come I'm standing here then?"

"You just dozed off so I thought I'd take the opportunity to fill in any gaps in your knowledge."

The Obsidia glided (Farwil could not see his feet so it looked almost like he was on wheels) over to a stool and sat down. Something bumped against his legs and, looking around, he realised an identical stool had materialised behind him. Taking the invitation to sit down, he began to feel scared of the Obsidia again. If he had pulled him into his mind, did that mean he had taken complete control over Farwil's body again? Horrid possibilities appeared before him but he found it easier to convince himself that the worst of them were just fantasies.

The Obsidia's hood was pulled back and Farwil saw with a little thrill of fright the insect-like black eyes once more. He was tempted to look away from them but knew the Obsidia would not abide with that. It turned out that he needn't have bothered. As he watched, the man began to change. Everything strange and unnatural just faded away like an illusion and instead, a dark-haired Imperial man wearing a Black Hand robe sat opposite him,

"The advantage of being part of your dream means I can change my appearance easily. I can change anything inside this room."

"A dream?" Farwil repeated, stupidly, "So, are you real or just made up by my mind?"

"The thoughts you are thinking now are made up by your mind but that doesn't mean they aren't real."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Well, it wouldn't to you."

Farwil scowled. He hated people acting like they were more clever than him...even though, the Obsidia probably was, "So, what is it you want to talk to me about?"

"Who else but our mutual friend. Nothing else about your life is of interest to me. If it was, it would be for you to be a subject for a painting."

"Let me guess. Something of me dying because of my stupidity?"

"Very good." The Obsidia nodded, as though what they had just been talking about wasn't horrifying in the slightest. Farwil surprised himself by not being shaken by this idea, _Oh no, I hope he's not rubbing off on me, _"Anyway, there are a few gaps in your knowledge about Lavinia's story. Some that she would never confide in you even if she were friends with you all her life."

"What's new?" Farwil found himself muttering bitterly,

"Quite, but don't say that kind of thing out loud in my presence." There was no venom in his voice but the message was clear: 'don't say anything bad about Lavinia or bad things will happen', "As I was saying, there are several vital things that she will refuse to say to anyone. I was not involved in most of them. Being dead is a terrible inconvenience sometimes. However, I was able to watch them during the brief times I am allowed to wonder the world of the living."

"You can go out into the living world sometimes?"

"Yes but we don't do any of that cliched moaning in old buildings or haunting people. If we did, I would have tormented Belisarius ever since I died but we're getting off the subject again. What you see is something you must keep only to yourself."

_He'd probably stop me from saying anything anyway so it doesn't matter if I want to tell or not._ Farwil thought, still bitter. It wasn't hard to forget how the Obsidia would dominate his body without warning to further his own agenda, often without Farwil having any say in it. He hated this; it was like his body wasn't even his anymore.

He dragged himself away from his bitter thoughts and turned to the portrait again. As it showed him these scenes, Farwil became increasingly more horrified. He watched as Lavinia ran from the traitors who gloated so cruelly about Lachance's death and had ridden back to Gweden Farm (seeing the mutilated body hanging from the ceiling made his skin crawl) to try and give the body some dignity in death by needlessly bandaging over the many wounds and giving up the black robe she was wearing to clothe it. Farwil felt a little indecent for seeing her in her undergarments but they covered her well, even if they made her look so vulnerable.

The Breton, Mathieu Bellamont, had followed her and comforted her, agreeing to let her stay under the pretence of a boy and feeding her lies that he believed that Lachance was innocent. She had communicated to him by writing in the soot from the fireplace since she had gone into a Silence. She had trusted him. And, he had done _that_ to her. When she had used that clever trap with that book, he had waited until the other Speakers had gone out, spiked her drink with something, tied her down and...Just before he did, Farwil had turned away, his stomach squirming like a can of worms. The Obsidia gave him an understanding kind of look. He probably felt the same way, if not more.

She had escaped from those Speakers that same day. Not before that Belisarius had added insult to injury by thinking she was a traitor. It was a good thing that Count Hassildor's stewardess (Farwil was shocked to discover the Count was a vampire) found her and, unlike those blind Speakers, immediately realised something was wrong. It was then that it was first discovered that she was pregnant...as well as the other thing. The Count and the stewardess had agreed not to tell her immediately and Lavinia, who had newly regained her voice, agreed to return in a few days. It was remarkable how much of a brave face she was putting on. There was no way she could have recovered fully after such a short time.

It was so funny to see the Speaker struggling through Doomsday, that suddenly made sense when he began to see Lavinia's old Brothers and Sisters making all the strange occurances so. He wasn't sure what made Antoinetta produce the illusion of a human with a rabbit's face. Neither did the Obsidia. What was more satisfying was seeing Lavinia cut down Bellamont, even if she sustained all those injuries, _So, that's how she got that scar on her face._

As he looked away again, unable to watch what Raven Camoran and the Mythic Dawn did to her, he remembered when she told him about the girl from the Dark Brotherhood who turned the organisation against the Mythic Dawn, _She was talking about herself all along! That's probably her way of coping, pretending it didn't happen to her._ He was so glad when the Obsidia intervened before she was sacrificed and made a petinant Altmer member take her away somewhere safe.

When the Obsidia had finished his little show, the portrait turned black and Farwil turned back to him, trying to suppress how sick and horrified he felt, "Why do you want me to know?" He asked, as soon as he could trust his body not to throw up if he opened his mouth,

"Because, gormless as you are, I must reluctantly admit that Lavinia considers you a good friend. One of the first people she allowed to be her friend since she became Listener."

"I thought you didn't wany anyone going near her." Farwil remembered all too well the jealous thoughts that had gone through the Obsidia's head when Vicente had become involved with Lavinia,

"So, I don't but I'm no longer in a position when I can interfere. So, I eventually learned that Lavinia is no longer mine. 'Till death do us part,' after all. Who would have thought the nonsense those Divines said would be true? Besides, I do not want Lavinia to be lonely all her life and keeping away every potential friend or suitor would be very counterproductive."

Farwil noticed the word 'suitor' and something long dormant inside him stirred. The part that admired the hooded figure he had first met in the Newland's Lodge. That part that was even stronger now he knew what she had endured and how she refused to wallow in her sorrow, _Do I just admire her,_ he wondered, hesistantly, hoping that the Obsidia couldn't read his mind, _or...is it something else...?_

The memory of their little exchange at the castle gates fluttered into his head. His cheek began to tingle when it remembered whose lips had been there, however briefly-

"Thinking about your last meeting?" The Obsidia cut through his reminscing, making him jump, "Well, it was quite interesting to watch for us too."  
"You know," Farwil was seized by an urge to say it, "if you were alive, you would have been hauled in for stalking."

"I'm a twenty-years-dead ghost. There are no laws that apply to me."

"And, even if there were, you'd probably ignore them."  
"You're starting to understand me. Now, we have wasted a lot of time gossiping, haven't we? This isn't like me at all. Let me get straight to the point. First, Lavinia needs you. She doesn't need you now but she will soon. And, when she does, she will for the rest of her life."  
"What?" Farwil frowned at the sudden serious tone. This sounded dangerously like one of those fantasy books Ulene liked to read where a seer gives the hero of the story a prophecy that would be fulfilled by the end of the book,

"I'm not telling you this because I know it will happen. I'm not as cliched as that. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm an all-knowing god. I simply know how to push people in the right direction. I'm just trying to make it happen and, if you cooperate, it will."

"Is that something I want or not?"

"Well, do you want to be with Lavinia or not?"

Farwil knew he had to pause to think (he desperately needed to get into the habit of thinking things through) but his mind was already made. He couldn't imagine any woman better but it seemed near impossible that she would feel anything approaching love for him. He was just a foolish wannabe knight in her eyes, after all. The inferiority that came with thinking of her returned in full force, making him feel miserable once more,

"Like I said, it's impossible now but it won't be in the future if you do what I say."

"Which is?"

"Stay out of Lavinia's sight for now. Do not let her know you are there. Let her lavish her attention on Martin for now."

"She likes Martin?" His heart dropped,

"Yes." The Obsidia frowned too. Clearly, this had not been what he had wanted at all, "Once Martin came into the picture, all my plans of you and her were laid to waste. Vicente thought that Martin was suitable and knew I approved of you more. He pulled the strings just to spite me, no doubt." When the Obsidia's voice was bitter, it sounded so menacing and Farwil become conscious of how childish his must have sounded by comparison,

"So, Martin's going to marry her, is he?" Farwil uttered, more miserably than he'd meant to, "I'm just going to be an old flame?"

"Ah, if I told you, that wouldn't be any fun. Besides, I've done enough manipluating of the future by telling you this. I'm sure I don't need to tell you to keep this meeting a secret."

"Even if I didn't, you wouldn't let me say anything."

"Good point. Right, you're going to wake up in a minute. Brace yourself."

Farwil had no idea why he had been given this instructions because coming out of the dream was...just as easy as that. He just opened his eyes and he was in the cart again. Someone (he presumed Haecuba or Lucien) had covered him with a rather scratchy blanket, probably found under one of the benches. Unfortunately, as soon as he woke up, he found himself sitting opposite Martin.

He didn't quite know what to think about Martin. First, his snide side (probably strengthened by the Obsidia in some way) stated that Lavinia probably made more fun of him than she did to Farwil. He just looked like the sort of person one could easily make fun of. He was not at all strong-looking. In fact, he looked a little pale and sickly. Or, maybe, that was because he had probably been cooped up in Cloud Ruler Temple for a very long time.

The only thing really striking about him were his eyes, bright blue. The sort one would expect to glow in the dark,

"_He got those from his father._" The Obsidia muttered from the back of his head,

_Have all the Septims got that?_

"_Very probably. Or, at least, I think so. I'm not really someone who keeps that kind of company._"

Martin was deep in conversation with Lucien and had not noticed Farwil was awake. Haecuba was missing but the presence of Arquen curled up under a blanket told him that Haecuba had probably taken over driving. Farwil wondered how this Vicente had pulled the strings to get Martin to like Lavinia. Since there was no helpful explanation from the Obsidia this time, he took to imagining it.

He knew that Martin had once been a Priest of Akatosh but this made it even harder to believe that he could ever get close to liking her. Then again, he was the son of a count and felt he had forgiven her for it. Priests were meant to be forgiving, after all, and Lavinia was easier to forgive than an conventional assassin,

_Wait, does he know?_ He knew that the Grandmaster of the Blades didn't know so did that mean that Martin-?

"_Oh, he knows alright._" The Obsidia nodded, "_He's known before he even met her. I remember seeing him._"

Before he could ask, the image was already supplied of Lavinia sobbing in the empty chamber of Fort Farragut now devoted to tombs and of a pair of bright blue eyes, _He was in the fort at your funeral. Why?_

"_Time for explanations later. We are near our destination._"

Farwil poked his head out of the cart window, making Martin jump since he didn't know his fellow traveller had been awake all that time. He could see the familiar dark green of the Bravil countryside where he had met Banus. However, there was a definite difference in the air, something that was vaguely familiar too. Whatever it was, it made his skin crawl.

The air did not smell like fresh rain or bloomed flowers but had a distinct scent of ash and fire. His heart dropped again, his insides turning to ice. He tried to convince himself that it might just be someone burning a bonfire but who burned a bonfire nowadays? His eyes flicked up to the early morning sky and saw with stiffening horror that it was slowly becoming laced with red.

Martin realised something was wrong too and squeezed his head through the window next to Farwil's, "Oh, by the Nine!" He groaned. Haecuba called the horse to a halt (more because it was too scared to go on than any real danger) and everyone leapt out. Arquen was the last to realise what was going on, who was blinking blearily and griping about being woken up so suddenly.

They were close to Bravil. Farwil could see a huddle of Bravil soldiers a little way off. It took the sight of them cowering at the sight of the towering Oblivion Gate half-hidden among the trees about ten feet away for Farwil to really respect the need for Lavinia, _They're just standing there, not knowing what to do! They're not even making an effort to keep back the monsters that come out!_

Haecuba was already marching towards the gate, looking set to fight and with instructions to the others to stay by the cart. From behind, one couldn't tell if she was Lavinia or not and Farwil could easily pretend she was by looking at the back of her black-cloaked head. It somehow made him feel a bit better.

Then, something clattered at her feet. Pausing, she looked down into the grass and gave a small gasp of horror and alarm. Lucien hurried forward at once, "What is it?"

Haecuba said nothing so he followed her gaze down. Seeming to spot the same thing she had, he crouched down and picked up something white and gold with both hands. It was a claymore, an elven claymore that seemed to retain its bright beauty even when bathed in the hellish light of Oblivion. Martin's breath caught behind him and he too felt something inside him stir at the sight, _It looks like...but it can't be...She'd never just leave her sword here._

However, his weak excuse-making vanished when Lucien, spotting something else, set the claymore in the ground and picked out a dark, heavy-looking ebony one. Arquen was just starting to catch on to what was happening, having just spotted the Oblivion Gate. Farwil approached the standing claymore, dread filling him with every step and his mind becoming more desperate not to believe what he was seeing, coming up with one unconvincing alternate story after another.

All this effort went to waste. The carved name on the claymore was clear as day. He remembered it not only from seeing it after the battle in the tower but from the Obsidia's memories, _Oh no..._ It wasn't just Farwil thinking that but the Obsidia too. His dread seemed to double, probably because he was feeling it for two people, freezing him to the spot. It was like he had just seen Lavinia's battered form all over again: the world seemed ten times bigger than normal and he desired nothing more to be in Castle Cheydinhal.

At last, Arquen was the one to voice the horrible realisation (she was the last to realise it), "Those aren't the Listener's claymores, are they?" The way she said it sounded so stupid and so unbefitting of such a terrible thing that it made Farwil want to hit her,

"_The feeling's mutual._" The Obsidia growled, "_When I get my hands on Vicente for making her come..._"

"They are." Haecuba sounded better, her voice trembling and her face white,

"Why would they be here?" Lucien's voice was even more suitable, sharp as a lash from a whip, "Why would she leave them lying around?"

"Not for any good reason, that's for sure." Martin wasn't obviously panicking but his face was creased with distress. Indeed, the only one who was failing to act accordingly in this situation was Arquen but Farwil drew his mind away from her and instead tried to think of reasons for this strange thing. Nothing he came up with sounded good. In fact, he didn't really want to think them. Nor did he want to spend the next few moments looking for a body.

Then, Lucien stood up and marched over to the standing elven claymore. His name, shared only with his father, seemed to almost glow as the red Oblivion-light was cast on it as it was freed from the ground and held up in both the boy's hands,

"This sword belongs to my mother." Lucien's voice was low and steady, "And, once belonged to my father." He lifted up his head and faced the Oblivion gate, that now had a small army of daedra swarming around it. Surely, they would realise they were there soon. He was surprised they hadn't attacked them already. There was a wooshing movement and the claymore was strapped to Lucien's back,

"_No!_" The Obsidia's voice burst through Farwil's lips, "_Don't!_"

"I appreciate the concern." Lucien's eyes seemed to quietly blaze in a way only his mother's did, "But, I have been doing this for months while you were possessing Farwil and I am not about to stop because you told me to." He turned back to the gate and began to walk towards it,

"_You get back here this instant, boy!_" Even Farwil was surprised at the Obsidia's anger.

Lucien retorted only with silence and a continued walk towards the gate. Farwil's legs moved on their own and the Obsidia made his arm grab his shoulder, finally making him stop. The shoulder felt very thin under his fingers. Too thin for someone who was about to go into an Oblivion gate. And, Farwil also realised the boy was not suitably armoured at all. He just had that thin Akaviri robe under his woollen cloak and the too-thin shrouded armour underneath that, _He'll never survive._ Farwil thought. He didn't believe a word Lucien said about him doing it for months and neither did the Obsidia,

"_I command you,_" His voice became a dangerous hiss so the Bravil guards, still hovering uselessly in the distance like the many midges in the air, did not hear, "_as martyred child of Sithis, to stand down!_"

"And, as lost child of the Listener _and_ of you, Obsidia, I disregard your commands!" With that, he broke free of the restraining grip and, as he ran towards the gate, he called over his shoulder, "And, if my mother is dead, then I shall serve the Emperor in her place!" Farwil didn't have time to call out a warning before the daedra heard him and lunged.

But, just like his mother, he needn't have bothered. Lucien danced a flailing, flashing-silver dance with the daedra, none lasted more than a few seconds into it. In less than five minutes, the small army was lying dead, at the mercy of the small Akaviri blades that Farwil had only seen at his sides until now. The elven claymore hung seemingly forgotten on his back. This was only visible for a split second before Lucien dived into the gate, the flying pigtail being the last thing they saw.

The Obsidia retreated into Farwil's mind, snarling, "_Just like his mother, can't be talked out of anything. No matter how foolish-_"

There was a gust of wind and Haecuba hurried after him, bearing the ebony claymore on her back (probably for safekeeping although it did slow her speed). As she ran, she called to them, "I will make sure he will come back safe!"

The spirit was still not consoled, all the while muttering how recklessly idiotic and like his mother Lucien was, making it very difficult for Farwil to concentrate on things going on outside his head. Once he had finally got the irritating ghost to shut up, he finally realised that Martin was explaining Lucien's origins to an astonished Arquen, who had been awake enough to hear what Lucien had said in response to the Obsidia,

"So, what do we do now?" Farwil asked, once Martin had finished. However, he knew what kind of dreadful task they had to do. It chilled his heart when he thought of finding her body somewhere,

"Wait for them. We can't help them while they're in the Plains of Oblivion and we can't search around with that hell-gate open." Farwil leapt at this and felt suddenly very affectionate towards Martin. Delaying the task for a bit was a much better prospect at this moment. So, they huddled into the small cart again. Farwil kept an eye on the Oblivion Gate while Martin kept on talking to Arquen about Lavinia. He found himself tuning out after a while but the Obsidia was listening and making little comments about how she should have realised whatever she was being told sooner.

All the while, Farwil watched anxiously as the Gate belched out smoke and sparks but no more daedra. He had heard that, when he had gone into the Gate outside Cheydinhal, no daedra had come out while he was inside. Did this mean they were both alive? He knew Haecuba would be fine but Lucien? He had no idea and the Obsidia's furious rantings made it no better.

He so wished that he had his sword. The Obsidia hadn't thought to pick it up when he possessed him and his lack of a weapon made him feel very vulnerable, _Well,_ a bitter part of himself that had been born when he had tried to close the Oblivion Gate, _I wouldn't be much use even if I did. _All childish bravado and determination to impress seemed to have died and he knew that he could only stay in the cart to watch the professionals at work. He must have relied on this more than he thought because he felt suddenly weak and empty without it.

He glanced down at his muscleless arm. Even Lucien's arm was stronger than this. The boy could hold his own against the Grandmaster of the Blades while he couldn't even defeat a dremora. He didn't even know any magic to compensate for it, _If it hadn't been for Bremman and Lavinia, I'd be dead by now._ He dropped his gaze from the window and clenched his teeth, _Bremman's miles away and god knows where Lavinia is!_

After what felt like years, the fiery gate became a column of yellowy-orange light, throwing up charred pieces of the gate into the air to fall to ash on the ground, _It's closed!_

"_Finally!_" The Obsidia was finally drawn away from his cursing and focused on what his host was seeing. Both Lucien and Haecuba returned, flushed but triumphant, Lucien carrying the shrunken Sigil Stone. The three of them slipped out of the cart again to meet them,

"How did it go?" Martin was most fretful over Lucien, his eyes whizzing like blue will-o'-th'-wisps over his body to check for injuries, though there were clearly none,

"Just as well as any of the others. It was perhaps not as quick as the others I have closed but Haecuba wanted to check for bodies."

He said this so calmly but it shook Farwil to the core. It was the same sort of thing his mother would do. Arquen was now looking at Lucien with unashamed awe but probably because he had taken off his handkerchief at last and was showing her his face, that was so much more similar to his father's than his mother's.

Then, there was an incredible crescendo of whinneying, making them all jump and look round. The horse that had been driving the cart, once docile and obedient, was now rearing and neighing in fright. At first, he thought it was a stray daedra terrorising it but then, he caught sight of the glistening black shape charging towards them,

"Shadowmere!" gasped the Obsidia through Farwil's lips again.

The black horse skidded to a halt before them, her eyes wide and her coat shining, seemingly in a state of panic, "_I've never seen her act like this._" The Obsidia too sounded worried, as Shadowmere ran once around them and began to run away again, towards Bravil. About ten feet into away from them, she turned back and tossed her head violently,

"She wants us to follow her." The Obsidia called to everyone, "Come on!"

Everyone hastened to obey. Farwil's legs moved on their own at a pace he never thought he could have reached. Perhaps it was the Obsidia giving him strength. He had been very fast in life, after all. No wonder he had been able to go three months unnoticed. They had reached Bravil in no time. The cold remains of an Oblivion gate jutted from the ground before a rope-bridge leading to the island town.

Shadowmere skidded to a halt in front of a large tree before the stables. At first, Farwil thought one of the fires from Oblivion had not been extinguished properly since there was smoke rising from some of the bushes. Then, by the horrible stench in the air, he realised that it was someone smoking. That someone stood up at the sight of them and approached.

At first, he thought it was a floating skull. Then, he realised that it was a bulky man wearing roughly-sewn furs and holding his pipe in one ebony-armoured hand. He knew there must be eyes behind that mask but looking into those dark eye sockets in the skull-mask gave him the creeps,

"Is there a Martin among you?" His voice was growling, like he smoked far too much (something Farwil could believe easily).

There was a pause. Martin was definitely not brave or stupid enough to say who he was. Arquen finally shoved him forward, showing great idiocy in Farwil's opinion again (or maybe that was because his opinion of her was tainted by the Obsidia's), "He's here, Lord Harla."  
_Harla?_

"Aye, I could see that. You look like the one she described."

"Who?" Martin finally found the courage to speak,

"My granddaughter." He put away his pipe and, with the same arm, pulled the skull away from his face. That purple-hue, scarred face topped with greying orange hair. Farwil knew at once that this man was related to Lavinia. The orange hair was a dead giveaway, let alone the skin colour. Arquen was suddenly stiff and nervous, like servants were before his father,

"You mean, Lavinia?" Martin said, stupidly,

"Aye. You're looking for her, I take it."  
"Ah, yes. Do you know where she is."

"Aye. This way."

With that, he pulled his mask on again, picked up a ridiculously large double-headed axe from the bushes (Farwil was astonished that he could even lift the thing off the ground, let alone one handed) and marched away towards the rope-bridge. Farwil really wanted to go on it alone since it didn't look like it could support all their weight. However, Arquen gave him an unhelpful push forward and he was forced to bear the heart-stopping jostling of the others until he shakily reached the city gates.

Thankfully, he had his face covered so none of the guards really looked hard at him. Like the Kvatch guards, they were more concerned about watching for daedra than suspicious, cloaked people entering the city. They did look around nervously at Lavinia's grandfather but he ignored them with a disregard that only Lavinia used, _They really are closely related._ He was now doubting the assumption people made that personality came from upbringing and environment.

He marched on through the muddy, deserted streets. Farwil had never been to Bravil before since his father didn't like the place. He was beginning to see why. It was not so much a city as a stone-walled shantytown. All the houses were made of pale wood carelessly nailed together and he realised by the stairs on the outside leading up to the second floor that they were two one-story houses set on top of each other rather than one two-story house. He had never known anyone living like that.

There wasn't even any proper paving. The paths were just mud tracks between the houses and foxgloves poked out of the ground, growing wild around the walls. Everywhere he went, there was a smell of mud; the kind of smell that hung around Castle Cheydinhal's gardener after he had been at work. The air was heavy and humid, trying to force him to remove his heavy cloak. He could hear what he supposed was the canal flowing through it and the sounds of a fisherman trying to persuade the guards to let him out of the gates to do his work (in a very loud and angry voice).

Other than that, the place was deserted. Bravil had most cause to be scared of going outside since they did not have much to protect themselves and probably didn't have a well-trained Fighters' Guild or guards. This assumption was proved right after he saw a guard drinking at his post (something that would never be allowed in Cheydinhal).

They slipped through a gap in the building, where a desperate beggar tried to steal Arquen's purse. The shock spell she jabbed in his face made his hair stand up in spikes and the end of his nose blacken. They came out on a small square where a statue of a women with many children dancing around her stood. Farwil supposed this must be the Lucky Old Lady. He would have taken comfort from the sight had the Obsidia not from within his mind. This made him think that he must have a connection with it and immediately, the statue looked cold and unwelcoming.

At last, they came to the chapel. Lavinia's grandfather unrespectfully and unceremoniously kicked open the door, making someone shriek in fright from within, "Ah, enough of your screaming!" He snarled, sounding more animal-like than ever, "I've brought the man she wanted so get to business!"

The poor congregation were probably scared half to death by him and even more scared by the company he had brought. Only Martin looked anything near approachable. They huddled in a dark mass in the pews, staring at them all as though they were a horde of daedra. Farwil was glad his face was covered or else everyone would see him going red.

The high priestess was summoned at last. She was a Dunmer with skin the colour of Haecuba's eyes, smooth grey hair, slanted eyes and a very thin nose. Farwil was very glad that she, at least, did not fear these newcomers, "Hello, everyone. I'm Uravasa Othrelas, High Priestess of the Great Chapel of Mara. Which of you is Martin?" She asked, politely surveying them all,

"I am." Martin stepped forward, with a lot less fright than he had with Lavinia's grandfather.

An odd look crossed her face at the sight of him. Something Farwil couldn't define. Something between relief and trepidation, "Well, you'd better come with me then. Yes, I suppose you all can come too."

As they followed Uravasa into the undercroft, Farwil caught sight of Lavinia's grandfather taking a seat on one of the back pews and getting out his pipe again. He was soon forgotten as she led them into a corridor lined with doors where Farwil supposed the priests slept. Uravasa slipped into one of the rooms while the others waited outside, not sure what to expect,

_What's going on?_

"_Just wait. Telling you will spoil the surprise._"

Farwil scowled at the unhelpful ghost. Now, he knew the surprise wasn't going to be pleasant.

And, he was right. When Uravasa came out, she had a small bundle in her arms. A small bundle with a tiny purple face poked out from the blankets, "She said that it was yours." Her words were directed at Martin, who looked like he might faint at the sight.

Farwil, however, had had enough. Now, he felt just as bitter and hateful as he had before the Obsidia possessed him, only this was directed at Martin, _To think he's meant to be a priest and heir to the throne! What was he thinking, sleeping with his soldier? How dare he...how dare he put Lavinia through all that again!_

The Obsidia made no move to stop him as he turned round and marched out. He could hear a few voices calling after him but he didn't listen to a word. Lavinia's grandfather just puffed his pipe as he went by, _I hope he cuts Martin in half with that axe!_ He shoved his hands in his pockets in a sullen way that made the beggars retreat at the sight of him.

Shadowmere was waiting outside, looking calm again. He really didn't want to have to resort to this but what choice did he have? The cart they had came on was probably stolen by now and he had no money to rent a horse from the Bravil stable. Besides, the sickly-looking horses there didn't look able to carry him a single yard, let alone the journey to Cheydinhal.

The beast was surprisingly docile as he pulled himself up into her saddle and gripped her reins hard, "Get me home." was all he said. Of course, the horse understood and whisked him away from the humid Bravil into a swirling whirl of colour. When the world halted again and he had recovered from the inevitable dizzyness, he saw the tall Knights of the Thorn Lodge before him and felt the rain on his face. Throwing off the heavy cloak Lucien had given him, he attached it to Shadowmere's saddle before it turned and began to gallop away, back to her mistress.

Though he knew he must be glad to be home, he felt strangely hollow. He hadn't got what he wanted. The Black Hand was still on his face but he wouldn't go back to Lavinia. Not now. Not while she had a baby to look after. And, he would definitely not ask help from any assassins, either. He'd had quite enough of them to last him a lifetime.

While he stood getting drenched by the rain, the front door opened and someone stepped out. He barely recognised it as Bremman. Bremman recognised him after a few seconds' staring and there was a great confusion of movement around him. He was pulled forward by Bremman and many other people flooded around him, brushing him, holding him and talking in excited voices. He wasn't really paying attention to any of that. All he could think about was Lavinia, Martin and the little baby in Uravasa's arms.

A/N: Next time, we see Lavinia again!


	43. Chapter 42: Children of Harla

A/N: A pretty short chapter compared with the others but I thought it appropriate to end the chapter at that point.

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yeah, it's not an easy thing to explain, is it?

**Arty Thrip: **I try and keep Farwil alive by winding down the difficulty and trying to kill the daedra before Farwil gets to them.

**Commentaholic: **You think that was unexpected? Great! That means I've done something right!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Yeah, not one of Farwil's better days!

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 42: Children of Harla**

_Arquen_

_Oh, Night Mother, another child!_ It was enough of a shock to find out about the first one, let alone seeing a new one, _What will Banus say when he finds out?_ She imagined Banus becoming hysterical with joy at the notion and could realise somewhat why the Listener didn't want the Speakers to know about her first child.

Martin's eyes were as wide as plates as he stared down at the baby in Uravasa' arms and Lucien (as she now knew he was named) had taken an astonished step back. Haecuba had gone white and had her hands over his mouth. The baby, on the other hand, just opened its eyes sleepily and looking benignly round at them all with bright electric blue eyes. Its smile grew even wider when his eyes settled on Martin, as though he knew that he was looking at his father.

The priestess handed the child to him, "His mother named him Vicente Uriel."

_After that vampire from her old Sanctuary and Martin's father._ Arquen managed to keep this thought to herself as Martin just began to start digesting this. Vicente, however, seemed to already like this new face and was happily asleep in his arms. Arquen would have never said this out loud or admitted to thinking this but she found this incredibly cute,

"Where's his mother?" Martin asked, weakly. An uneasy feeling settled in Arquen's gut. She found it very odd that the Listener had not come out with her new son to greet them. A horrible thought struck her and forced itself into her attention Surely, someone like her could not die of something like childbirth. Then again, Martin did say that she didn't know very much about what to do during pregnancy and it had been twenty years since her last child so she could have forgotten all the advice Haecuba had given her, _Why didn't she ask Haecuba for help, though?_ The other Altmer clearly had not known about this but surely, she was the best person to come to.

More horrible thoughts came to her in an attempt to fill in the gaping holes in her knowledge, _She wasn't stupid enough to close Oblivion gates while she was pregnant, was she?_

This thoughts were all silenced, however, when the priestess helpfully pointed over her shoulder at the closed door where Vicente had come from, "You can't go in, though. She's sleeping."  
_So, she ISN'T dead._ Arquen almost breathed a sigh of relief but she held it in. Just because she wasn't dead didn't mean she was completely alright. That was certainly what the priestess was implying,

"Was it a difficult birth?" Of course, Haecuba would know all about this. It was very disconcerting to have known Haecuba for all this time and not know her areas of expertise. Or, that she even had areas of expertise, "Did something go wrong?"

"Vicente was premature, according to her, yes." Even Arquen knew what this implied though and her eyes flicked back to the baby. He looked perfectly healthy from her viewpoint, still curled up in his father's arms. Small, perhaps, but healthy, "It took a lot out of her and she fainted just after she named him. She hasn't been properly awake since. We've been giving her potions to get her strength back up but the process needs to be slow. Her body won't be able to cope, otherwise."  
"But, there aren't any problems with Vicente?"

"No, nothing at all. In fact, he's been the best behaved baby I've ever come across. He doesn't mind strangers or being on his own at all. In fact, he loves meeting new people."

"Unlike her last one." Haecuba glanced at Lucien, who had finally pulled down his handkerchief and showed Uravasa his face. When she saw him, the priestess' eyes widened and Arquen remembered that the Listener had left Lucien in the care of the Bravil chapel when he was a baby. Her suspicions that the priestess recognised him were confirmed when the Dunmer's blue face brightened,

"Lucien, is that you?"  
"Yes, Sister Othrelas." He inclined his head with the kind of formality one wouldn't be expected to give to the person who had probably known you since you were a baby, "I did not expect to see you again and I am happy that you have gained the title of High Priestess."  
Uravasa shook her head, "Formal as always. Never relaxing around anyone. You know, me and him have grown up together in Bravil and he always used that tone with me." She directed this to the others, shaking her head in disbelief,

"I didn't think to address you in any other way." Lucien answered, still showing no signs of familiarity to what was probably one of his closest childhood friends, "Now, what of my mother?"  
"Your _mother?_" Uravasa repeated, dumbly, and Arquen realised that the mer was probably too young to have seen the Listener give Lucien away. Then, a door opened behind Arquen, making her jump. A sluggish wrinkled Breton woman stumped out of the room, walking stick first and perusing the newcomers with muddy-brown eyes under fluffy white hair. The kind of person that looked like an easy kill but would make one hell of a noise if the assassin was spotted, "Oh! I'm sorry, Sister Donna. Did I wake you?"

"No, no. I was awake already." The voice was low and hoarse, her lips barely moving as she spoke, "I heard a familiar voice."

"Sister Donna," Lucien spoke up, "was it me you heard?"

Donna's eyes widened slightly and her mouth became a perfect 'o' shape, "Ooh, by the Nine Divines, it's Lucien! What have you come back here for?"

"To find my mother. Though," He glanced at Vicente, who was still contentedly sleeping and completely oblivious to his older brother close by, "I have found much more than I bargained for."

"Oh, you want to find out about her now?"

Lucien scowled slightly but said nothing. Arquen felt that this woman was about to go on a long rambling story and wished she had somewhere to sit at least. She was feeling very awkward just standing around in a corridor like this and her legs were starting to protest at this,

"Well, Lucien, m'boy, I only saw her once. I still remember her, though. You know me, I never forget. Even when I get even older than I am now, I'll never forget anything I see. Young mer, she was. Younger than Uravasa, I'd say. Came in one night with you in her arms, soaking wet from the rain. Looked like a drowned rat, she did. But, I'll tell you, she had the brightest hair you ever saw. You'd never see that kind of orange on a human, let alone a Dunmer.

"Anyway, she comes up to me and asks if I could take care of her son for her. 'Course, I asked why and she said it was because it was too dangerous for you to grow up with her. She seemed in a terrible hurry. I always think she was being chased by something. Still, as soon as I agreed, she gave me this little elven sword and told me to give it to you when you were older.

"Course, as soon as I was holding you, you woke up and starting wailing like crazy. You wouldn't stop for days after she left and then, you just went completely quiet. Never reached out to anyone again, even though we did try to get through to you time and again."

Lucien remained silent. This was probably sounding familiar to him. Donna went on,

"We did give you that sword before you left for the Chapel of Arkay. Have you still got it?"

"Yes, I have." He gestured at a small elven shortsword at his belt. Arquen wondered why on earth that was important and what the Listener meant by it,

"Now, then, Lucien, where on earth have you been up until now? I haven't seen you for years and what on _earth _happened to your face?"

"Nothing." Lucien's hand raised seemingly unconsciously to touch the tear-like scars on his face, "I really ought to heal these soon. But, Sister Donna, when did my mother come here?"

Donna regarded him with a sharp eye, "A few days ago. She was half-carried in here when her labour started by this wild man. Still stays around here. Never seen anything like him."

"He's here now." Uravasa chipped in and, then, seemed decided that the old woman had been out of her room long enough (_Probably retired from priesthood._ Arquen reasoned) and chivveyed her back inside,

"That was Sister Donna." Lucien turned to Martin, "She was High Priestess when I was brought here. She retired a year before I left."  
"And, who's Uravasa to you?"

"We knew each other growing up. She was Donna's protege. I think there are about fifteen years between us."

They went back up the main chapel at last. Vicente roused from his sleep and became very interested in Lucien, as though he knew he was looking at his big brother, _Septims must be claivoyents from birth or something._ Arquen thought, _Or else, babies know their family by instinct._ Lucien was very wary of his little brother, having probably never handled a baby before. Vicente kept patiently reaching out for him though (it was amazing that he didn't cry once) and, in the end, Lucien gave in.

Uravasa showed him how to hold Vicente properly but the baby didn't show discomfort once. His calm patience soon affected Lucien since, after a few seconds of holding him, a smile appeared on his face, making him look instantly less cold and less Lachance-like, "Hello, baby brother." Vicente responded by happily mouthing Lucien's pigtail,

"Ah, so you've met him, have you?" Lord Harla, who had not moved from his pew, stood up, making Arquen jump, _Does every Harla have the ability to scare the life out of you? Though, Polixones wasn't that scary... _Her aimless train of thought was interrupted by Uravasa frowning,

"Don't smoke that around the baby, please."

"Fine, fine." Lord Harla scowled and an old, not-quite-forgotten twinge of fear entered Arquen at the sight of his irritation, even though it was completely irrational. The pipe disappeared into his cloak and he marched over to Lucien, "Well, it's been a long time since I last saw you."

"Same to you, Ou Ka'Mi."

_Another gap in my knowledge. This is really starting to get annoying. Did I know anything before today?_ Now she was beginning to find out, Arquen was becoming increasingly annoyed at herself whenever a new piece of information came her way. Especially if a lot of other people knew it and not her. She sat down and tried to blend into the walls as she watched the exchange,

"Or, should I perhaps say, great-grandfather."

"Aye. I knew as soon as I got a good look at you that you were a relative of mine. Could tell by the birthmarks. And, obviously, you were too young to be any of my son's so I worked out that I still had a grandchild living."

Lucien frowned, "You could have told me that we were related when I was in Akavir. I would have found my mother sooner."

"Not the way I see it." Arquen had to admire Lucien's nerve for talking to Lord Harla in such a way. Then again, relatives were probably immune, "By the sound of it, you didn't want anything to do with your parents."

"I didn't know anything about them at the time." Lucien looked uncomfortable, frowning and making his scars look longer, "I had convinced myself that they didn't want to know me."

"Yeah, I figured that out. Lavinia doesn't seem the type to abandon her first-born child if she thought there was any other option." _It didn't seem that way to me. Honestly, what possessed the Listener to think that the Speakers would even dream of harming the child, spawn of Lachance or not? Even if one cannot raise him in a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, there is no reason why she can't raise him outside the Dark Brotherhood. _Then, she remembered with a pang of guilt that she was the one who made the rule that all members of the Black Hand had to stay in their Sanctuary when they weren't doing their duties, _Still...I would have made an exception with her, of course...would I?_

"I know that now." Lucien nodded. Then, he turned to Martin, who was still standing close to him, "Now, tell me, Martin, how did you come to be so close to my mother? For, I suppose I must now call you my stepfather."

Martin went pink in the face, looking even less Emperor-like, "Well...I'm surprised myself. I do love her, of course. We started getting close after she got into a bit of trouble when, ah, fighting the Mythic Dawn..." He tailed off lamely. Lucien seemed to accept this explanation though and said no more. Arquen suddenly realised that Haecuba was nowhere to be seen.

Normally, she wouldn't have cared if she couldn't find Haecuba (since she privately hoped that she would not reappear) but, now she realised what an asset she was, she became worried. Just as she was about to begin searching for her, however, she reappeared from the undercroft, "I was helping the High Priestess attend to the Listener." She said, without her Speaker having to ask,

"How is she?" Arquen, for a moment, felt like requesting to see her but thought better of it. She was sure that she did not want to see her strong leader looking so weak,

"The process has been accelerated somewhat but she will probably not regain her strength until tomorrow or the day after." She said this in a very professional tone, _That's going to take some getting used to, _"In the meantime, I suggest staying in the Bravil Sanctuary for the night. Of course," Haecuba caught herself, "you are my Speaker so it's up to you."

Arquen felt a stab of annoyance, _Just because she's powerful now doesn't mean she has the right to order me around! The way she said it, it's like she's saying that I won't be her superior anymore!_ Still, she managed to keep these thoughts in check. She didn't want her dagger to come to life and try to take her head off again, "That sounds like a good idea. But, not a word to Speaker Alor about this. You know how excited he would get." She at least wanted to volunteer some individual comment of her own. That was thwarted again, however, by Haecuba nodding,

"I was just thinking that, Speaker. Lucien," She called over her shoulder before Arquen could open her mouth, "we're going to stay at Speaker Alor's home. Do you want to come with us?"

"Not at the moment." He waved a hand carelessly and went right back to his conversation between Martin and Lord Harla. So, Arquen marched out of the chapel, mentally bracing herself for Banus' nonsense. It was only then that it hit her,

"Where's Farwil?"

"He left just after Uravasa showed us Vicente." _How on earth did she notice that?_

_Martin_

_I'm a father...I'm actually a father..._

This thought circled all round his head for hours after the revelation and took a ridiculous amount of time to sink in. While he talked with the others, he did some quick sums in his head. He had only slept with her once when she had regained her sanity after the Mysterium Xarxes episode and had thought she'd have the sense to drink a contraception potion at least, _I really should have reminded her. Or, I should have done something beforehand._ He had not even considered the possibility at the time. Probably because of his time with Sanguine conditioned him not to care about that sort of thing.

Instead of staying with his Speaker, Lucien decided to stay with his great-grandfather and Martin in a small cabin outside Bravil hidden completely by trees where Lavinia had hidden during her pregnancy. Uravasa insisted that Vicente stay in the chapel, even though Martin wished he could have spent more time with his son.

Once there, Lucien suddenly became anxious, sitting by the fire and staring into its depths, "What's the matter?" Martin asked, sitting beside him like he used to back at Kvatch,

"Oh, nothing, ah." He really was worried about something. He never normally stuttered,

"Come on. What is it? You know you can tell me."

"Well..." He fiddled with his pigtail; the end of which was copiously covering in Vicente's saliva, "...I never thought I would meet my mother or my father. I've met my father but he is only a spirit possessing people and that is very different. To meet my mother in the flesh..."

"You'll be fine." Martin reassured him, "She'll be lovely, I promise." He meant it. He couldn't see any reason at all why Lavinia would be anything but happy to see her eldest son,

"I know but..." He shifted uncomfortably, "...that's the problem. I've hated her all this time, imagining her to be some shameless prostitute. The nicer she will be, the worse I will feel. And, what if she finds out how much I've hated her all this time?"

"She won't be upset." It was clear that the boy was now just winding himself up, "Remember what she said in the letter? She said she wouldn't blame you if you hated her."  
"Yes, but...she gave me to the chapel to get me away from the Dark Brotherhood. What will she say if she finds out I am a Silencer?"

"She won't mind. Now, look. Don't worry about a single thing. Lavinia will love you no matter what you've said or done."

"Well...if you say so." He seemed to calm down a bit, "Tell me, Martin...what is she like?"

Martin spent the rest of the evening telling Lucien stories about Lavinia, including the one about them sneaking out of Cloud Ruler Temple. Lucien found this incredibly funny, especially the idea of Martin drinking and dancing. It was only when Leontes Harla barked at them to be quiet did they finally settle into their bedrolls and go to sleep. Leontes himself was sleeping upright against his battle-axe that he'd stuck in the floor with only his cloak to cover him. It was amazing he didn't get a stiff neck from such an uncomfortable-looking position.

The next day greeted them with clear skies and a slight dampness everywhere after it rained overnight. Leontes led them out through the forest again (it was truly a mark of how good his sense of direction was since Martin could not recognise anything from their path from the previous day) and into Bravil. On the door of the chapel was a white handprint, "I went back last night while you were asleep and left it there." Lucien explained, showing them his painted hand.

Lucien became uneasy again as they entered the chapel. There was no sign of Lavinia anywhere. Haecuba, Arquen and Farwil were nowhere to be seen too. There was only Uravasa and a few priests milling around and doing their duties. They let them sit in the pews to wait for any word but it was an very tense time. Lucien did not want to talk but kept his eyes fixed on the undercroft, as though thinking it was about to blow up any second.

Martin engaged in pointless conversation about holy matters with the priest while keeping an eye on Lucien. Leontes just puffed his pipe, staring aimlessly at one of the stained glass windows and slowly filling the room with foul-smelling tobacco until one of the priests was finally brave enough to tell him to put it out. He did so, much to their relief, but very irritably.

Around midday, just as Martin was about to suggest they get some lunch, Haecuba emerged from the undercroft, Vicente cradled in her arms. With her, wrapped in a heavy shawl and leaning on Haecuba a little, was Lavinia. Her hair was tied clumsily off her face, making her look a lot younger but it did nothing to disguise how pale she was. Her face looked even thinner now.

Lucien froze, clearly realising who this new woman was. He didn't do a single thing as the seconds ticked by. All too soon, Lavinia looked up, "Martin? What are you doing here?"

"Ah..." She wasn't using her usual cold stare but he still felt awkward. He didn't know whether to announce Lucien or not and his Septim's instinct was silent. Clearly, it didn't think this was important enough to get involved in, "...to find you." He said, truthfully,

"I'm sorry, Listener." Haecuba interjected, "I was discovered a few days ago."

"That's alright, Haecuba." Lavinia waved a hand, "I was bound to happen sooner or later. But, that's still no reason to come all the way out here. You could have come by yourself. Why else have you come here?"

Of course, she would realise it. Martin knew how strange it would be for her to see him even a foot outside Cloud Ruler Temple, let alone all the way in Bravil,

"Well, ah..."

"If you're not answering that question, I am." Leontes stepped forward, his armour clanking noisily as his feet hit the stone,

"Yes, Grandfather?" She wasn't the slightest bit affected by his presence,

"I don't know what it means," He said, seemingly immune to awkwardness, "but something appeared on the door of the chapel this morning."

It didn't sound like much and it did take Lavinia a little while to fully realise what this meant. Her eyes widened a fraction and she turned at once towards the door, making Haecuba cry out to be careful and not exert herself too much. Martin too worried that she might wear herself out by meeting Lucien. Still, she moved as quickly as her weak legs would allow to the door and peered around it.

Her shoulders raised as she surely saw the white handprint and she ducked back into the chapel again. Her eyes darted around the place and quickly picked out Lucien, who had pulled up his handkerchief with nerves and was keeping his dark eyes on the floor. Slowly, as though she was approaching an angered mountain lion, Lavinia stepped towards him. Everyone was silent, the priests pausing in their duties and Vicente curiously staring between the two of them.

As she got closer, Lucien began to fidget. Something Martin had never seen him do before. He still would not look at her. Lavinia stood over him, gazing intently at him for a long moment before finally saying, "Lift your head." Martin was very glad that she didn't make an effort to sound strict or else her son would have certainly lost his nerve at that point.

He did as he was told, meeting her eyes for the first time since he was a baby. His fingers were still fiddling with the end of his pigtail and he seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes still. After another long pause, Lavinia lifted a hand, revealing the unbefitting muscles on her arms for the first time and making Lucien's eyes dart away from her face for a moment. Martin had told her about those muscles but hearing about something and seeing it were two different things.

Her hand pulled down Lucien's handkerchief and Martin gulped. If she reacted badly to the scars for one second, that could ruin everything. However, he needn't have worried. Though Lucien's face coloured and he looked away in shame, Lavinia did show any signs of disgust. In fact, she did the most brilliant thing she could have done: pushing back her fringe to reveal her own scar.

At last, Lucien spoke, saying the magic word that broke their tense silence, "Mother."

"Lucien." The widest smile Martin had ever seen spread across her face, so sunny that it would burn vampires, "You _are_ Lucien, aren't you?"

"Yes...mother." He spoke the word as though it was a foreign language, carefully mouthing the syllables. He finally found the courage to stand, showing that was much taller than Lavinia (something Martin felt he ought to have noticed earlier). Leontes became suddenly impatient; he marched behind them and gave Lavinia's shin a hard push with his foot.

She fell forwards into her son, who managed to catch her arms as she knocked into him and stay upright. They remained motionless in this position for quite some time until Lucien finally had the courage to wind his arms around her body. Martin thought that something was wrong with his scars at first since they had taken on a liquid shine. Then, he realised that there were real tears running down his face. And, running down hers,

"Lucien, oh, Lucien Polixones," She reached shaking hands upwards to cup his face, "you're as handsome as your father."

"And, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He answered, his voice shaky but jubilant, "I wish I had gone to seek you sooner."

Martin couldn't help but smile at the sight of the reunion. It wasn't as dramatic as he had expected but the uncontrollable happiness was still there. Vicente laughed happily, clapping his little hands at the sight, warming his heart even more,

"Oh, that doesn't matter now." Lavinia said, waving a hand, "In fact, you couldn't have come at a better time! You have a new baby brother-"

"Yes, I know." He nodded, "Vicente. I met him yesterday and, ah, so did his father."

Lavinia turned sharply to Martin, making her hair fly, and affixed him with a wide-eyed expression. Martin flushed, "Yes, that's right. Ah...it was...quite a shock...nice shock, though..."

"A bit more than a shock by the looks of it." Leontes growled, bluntly. He set down his axe and surveyed Lucien and Lavinia with a critical eye, "Well, here we all are at last. Three generations of the Harla house together when I thought we were all gone."

"I thought the same as you too." Lavinia nodded,

"I think we all thought we had no family left." Lucien added,

"Indeed. Anyway, enough of the sentimental nonsense and listen to me. Our house fell apart when my son and supposedly all his family died along with my wife. Now, we are reunited and must try to regain the power and afluence we have in Morrowind."

Lavinia blinked in surprise. Clearly, this had never crossed her mind and Martin could never imagine her for a minute as a member of the Morrowind aristocracy. Lucien, maybe, but not her, "But, what will have happened to the family fortune now?"

"Well, I never left a Will so it hasn't got into anyone's hands unless someone thinks about stealing it. Besides, I imagine you've made a fair bit yourself in your life. But, money isn't really the issue. What is the issue is our numbers. Me and Lavinia wouldn't be enough to take back our place in Morrowind. It's fortunate that we found Lucien here and that Vicente has been born."

"But, when do you intend to do this?" Lavinia cut in, "There is an Oblivion crisis going on and it won't be at all prudent to leave Cyrodiil at this moment in time."

"What about after the Oblivion crisis? There's nothing to hinder us when it's over." Lucien stated,

"Sharp lad." Leontes nodded, "What say you, Granddaughter?"

Lavinia took a while to answer, "That does sound good. Although, I do not know what I have to do. I'm afraid I don't know much about politics."

"You'll pick it up as you go along. Until then, you can be in charge of driving away anyone who gets in our way."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"However, to do that, we must all survive this crisis. No doubt this will be ended by a big battle, things like these always do, but we must pull through. You, especially, Lavinia. You have a child to raise and you'd better raise him yourself this time. There'll be no handing him over to chapels this time,"

A slight scowl appeared on Lavinia's face and even Martin thought he could have phrased this a bit better. It made it sound like she had given Lucien up because she couldn't be bothered to look after him,

"I will raise him, Grandfather." Her voice was curt and he knew she was using her piercing stare on him. Of course, it didn't have any effect. Old as the mer was, he looked like he could withstand an attack from Mehrunes Dagon himself, "You do not need to tell me to survive this because I will. I know too many people will mourn my death so I will not allow it."

"As will I." Lucien nodded, seeming even taller with determination, "My mother has birthed two sons and two sons, she shall have by the time these troubles are over."

"Since you have both sworn your survival, I might as well. I warn you, my speech won't nearly be as pretty as yours. I only wish to survive to gain back what was taken from us. I'm only getting involved in the battle because you two are. I couldn't care less if the hordes of Oblivion destroyed every other person on the planet. I just want to keep you two alive."

"Fair enough." Lavinia nodded, as though what he said was more profound and less selfish than it actually was, "Martin." He jumped at being addressed, having thought that they had forgotten he was there, "How close are we to opening a portal to Camoran's Paradise?"

"Ah, very close." Martin nodded, hastily, "Actually, I want to talk to you about that. You see, we need one more item to open the portal but, in order to get it, we need to..."

A/N: As you may have gathered, this is going to be one of the last chapters of this story. Yep, I am planning on drawing Broken Daggers to a close soon, as sad as that is.


	44. Chapter 43: The Final Gate

A/N: And, it's the Battle of Bruma. The beginning bit on this is a bit off but I liked the battle scene. That's just my opinion, though.

**Commentaholic: **Hmm...I was thinking of putting extracts of Lavinia's journal that she kept during the first three Dark Brotherhood years as a kind of deleted scenes fanfic but...then again, I never intended to write from her POV and I want to keep that mystery...I really don't know.

**Arty Thrip: **Ah, main characters never name their kids originally...or well. Two words: Albus Severus.

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Yeah, Vicente is such a cute kid, isn't he?

**Shadow Pegasus: **I'm not sure whether I should. Sure, the die-hard fans of this fic would like it but it runs the danger of being one of those badly-thought-out, done-at-the-last-minute sequel films that everyone hates.

**Lunatic Pandora1: **Yes, they may be little bundles of joy but it's not just joy they bring with them!

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 43: The Final Gate**

_Volanaro_

He and J'skar now kept a noticeboard of articles about Lavinia (it seemed strange to him to call her the Hero of Kvatch). Now he knew that she was alive, they felt compelled to keep track of her every move. Though she didn't visit them, they were given a lot of material in the form of the Black Horse Courier to keep track of what she was doing.

The mood in the Mages' Guild had certainly lifted since the revelation that Lavinia was alive. How could it not? Volanaro walked with a spring in his step and even whistled happily whenever the urge struck him. He constantly relived their reunion in his head, of Lavinia telling them about how she was taken in by a mysterious guild (she would not elaborate no matter how hard they tried) and had eventually risen to leader. He didn't remember much else since most of them had got drunk while celebrating and Lavinia had left in the night. Still, the happiness of her return was enough to smother any disappointment.

Burd was happier than anyone, of course, but, as he had voiced to Volanaro one night, he was the most worried, "She goes into Oblivion Gates all the time. It's amazing she's managed to stay alive so far. I know she's strong but no one's invincible, are they?"

His worries, however, were unfounded. Every report that mentioned her only hailed her successes and mentioned nothing of her being hurt. So, everyone in Bruma rested easy through the chilling winter. People were even joking about the Oblivion gates. Volanaro would often hear a particularly cold Nord guffaw while saying, "Could do with an Oblivion Gate now to warm my bones."

When the winter had passed, their patience was rewarded. The Mages' Guild door opened and two hooded figures entered. Volanaro was trying to balance a bucket of water over Selena's door at the time but seeing Lavinia emerge from one of the hoods made him completely forget about it, "Tiger Lily!" J'skar grinned from his chair, "Back from the Plains of Oblivion in one piece, eh?"

"So far, so good, Point-Ears." She nodded, smiling back. The other person pushed back his hood too, revealing a face identical in colour to hers but with dark hair and strangely dark eyes, _Must be a half-Dunmer._ Volanaro theorised. He had seen a half-Dunmer who didn't have the usual red eyes before during his days at the Arcane University, "I came here because I wanted you to meet someone."

"Oh?" Selena came out from the sleeping quarters, rendering Volanaro's bucket of water useless. She didn't notice him, though, and he turned his back on the precariously-wobbling vessal to climb down his ladder, "And, who is this handsome young man?"

"Far too young for you." Volanaro knew it was childish but he couldn't help himself. It made up for his failed prank,

"He most certainly is." Lavinia nodded, as she hung up both their cloaks by the door. She was wearing her usual Hero-of-Kvatch attire (it still seemed strange to see her wearing it) and the chainmail on her arms looked like it was about to burst since it strained so much to hold in the incredible amount of muscle. It made the boy beside her look rather skinny in his silk Akaviri robe, "And, I would not let you try to seduce him if you paid me."

"Oh, stop it, the pair of you!" Selena snapped, going very red. J'skar chortled appreciatively while Volanaro grinned. It was beginning to feel like twenty years ago again. The boy, however, frowned and turned to Lavinia, momentarily revealing a long black pigtail hanging down his back,

"Were you this frivilous when you were in their company as a child?" His voice was deep and Imperial-like; the tone was monotone and serious, matching his apathetic face,

"Why, were you not frivilous?" She gave him a look as though she thought him mad,

"No."

"Well, it's high time you begun." She gave him a small, playful slap on the back of the head. She did have to reach up because he was a lot taller than her, "A child has no business being serious. That's the grown-up's job."

The boy's frown deepened, _Crikey, we're not going to get any fun out of him._ Volanaro was reminded of one of those weird loners in the Arcane University that would just sit on their own, practising magic as though it was the only thing they knew how to do. They turned into Masters quickly but there was never much of a celebration since no one knew them enough to notice,

"Anyway, who is he?" J'skar asked,

"Allow me to introduce Lucien Polixones Harla."

"Harla?" Selena repeated, incredulously,

"Is he your cousin or something?" Volanaro too found it astonishing. They looked absolutely nothing alike except for the skin colour,

"Not quite." She gave the kind of smile she always did when she was deliberately drawing out the revealing of a big secret, _Playing guessing games, are we?_ Volanaro thought, smirking himself. This game was ruined, though, when the boy sighed,

"Mother, do you intend to draw this out?"

The bucket of water full off the door and right onto Volanaro's head when he reeled back in surprise, knocking it off. He was completely soaked in icy water from head to foot and the bucket clanged loudly and painfully against his head. The water and the bucket were a good thing though, since it kept him from being completely paralysed with shock.

He pulled the bucket away from his face, where it clattered to the floor, and stared at Lavinia. Surely, _surely_, he must have misheard. The young, innocent girl he had known since her childhood couldn't have a grown-up son, surely! Selena seemed to be thinking the same thing since he had her hands over her mouth and looked ready to faint.

J'skar was the first to recover. He approached Lucien and looked him over, his whiskers quivering as he sniffed. Lucien gave no response but kept his eyes on the Khajiit,

"Half-Imperial, yes?" J'skar finally said, although this would have been obvious without having to smell him in Volanaro's mind. Lavinia nodded and Lucien made no response. He didn't really look like he wanted to be here. Lavinia was the one to break the ice after a long pause,

"So...Lucien, this is Selena, Volanaro and J'skar. Everyone, this is my son."

Selena recovered herself at last but couldn't keep the shock from her voice, "Who's the father?"

"He's dead, now." Lavinia's face darkened, making it look older and more drawn than it should, "I named Lucien after him, though."

"Y-you looked after him all on your own?"

Both Lavinia and Lucien's faces tightened but they didn't elaborate. It was also clear that they didn't want to talk about it, _Wait,_ something occurred to Volanaro at that moment_, she asked him a minute ago if he was frivilous when he was a child? _The implications of this crashed into his head but he didn't voice them. He didn't want to make this meeting worse than this already was. Volanaro knew Lavinia was the most uncomfortable out of all of them so he decided to make an attempt at breaking the tense silence,

"Lucien, right?" He nervously held out a hand, which Lucien mercifully took (not before a small nudge from his mother), "I'm Volanaro. I've known your mother since she was little. We all did."

"Pleasure." Lucien didn't sound like he meant it. He was eyeing Volanaro's soaked clothes and the bucket lying on the floor. Lavinia gave him another sharp nudge,

"You promised you'd be civil!" She snapped at him,

"I am being civil, Mother. I am not being unpleasant."

Lavinia rolled her eyes and turned to Selena, "I wanted to try being open so I decided to introduce Lucien to you all."

Volanaro could only imagine how Burd would react to this. Thankfully, Selena had the good sense to turn the conversation to safer grounds,

"Well, Lavinia, you have been busy lately. All these reports of you vanquishing the hordes of Oblivion single-handed! You must have closed about a hundred now!"

"The Black Horse Courier exaggerates-"

"Oh, come now, don't be so modest! I won't be surprised if they don't make a statue of you in Bruma."

"Well," Lavinia smiled graciously, clearly very happy at this thought, "I do hope for their sake that the statue makers have the good sense to depict me with my hood up. They will have a hard time trying to carve my hair."

They all laughed. It was so good to know Lavinia hadn't changed too much, despite being a parent and the head of this guild of hers,

"Anyway, like I said, the newspapers always exaggerate. Besides, I wasn't entirely single-handed."

Just then, the door opened and another hooded figure came in with Burd. This time, it was a female Altmer with bright blue eyes and dark hair in a style that looked like it was copying Lavinia's old one with the ponytail and braids,

"Madam Lavinia." She inclined her head to Lavinia respectfully and Volanaro, though shocked at the respect, supposed this was a member of her guild,

"Perfect timing, Haecuba, though not so perfect speech. How many times have I told you not to address me so formally?"

"And, how many times have I told you that it is not proper?" Haecuba gave a small smile at her jest, which Lavinia returned with a small chuckle,

"Some people never get the message."

"Indeed."

Volanaro smiled. Even though it wasn't him, it was good to know Lavinia had at least one good friend for the past twenty years. Burd, however, did not share the good humour. His face was white and his eyes turned to Lucien, who had become bored and was gazing at the board of Black Horse Courier clippings, _He knows,_ was Volanaro's immediate and horror-stricken thought,

"Lavinia," His voice was low and Lavinia's smile vanished abruptly, "when were you going to tell me you had a son?"

Lucien looked around, his face impassive, taking in the sight of Burd. There was no way of knowing what the boy was thinking, _Is he a boy? Or, is he a grown mer?_ Volanaro realised he had no idea how old Lucien was. Though, the firm conclusion was already in his head, _Far too old,_

"I wasn't planning on telling you at all." Lavinia admitted, guiltily, "I didn't plan on telling anyone until recently. Only Haecuba and a few others knew he existed."

Haecuba nodded, "I am his godmother. Madam Lavinia," The Altmer did a superb job of ignoring the nudge from Lavinia, "agreed that she is keeping too many secrets and gave me the job of telling you."

"No way you could face telling him yourself, hmm?" Volanaro said, jestingly,

"I would rather charge stark-naked at ten Oblivion Gates armed only with a broken toothpick." Lavinia said, completely calmly and nonchalantly,

"You are Captain Burd." Lucien had approached them without anyone noticing and everyone jumped at the sound of his voice, "I have heard of you from my mother."

"That's me. And, Haecuba told me your name's Lucien Polixones Harla."

"Correct."  
Volanaro had to admire Burd for not becoming awkward of quailing before Lucien, "How old are you, Lucien?" His breath caught. It was as though Burd could read his mind,

"Twenty."

There was a general but muted intake of breath. It wasn't the first time that day Volanaro doubted his ears. After a few quick sums in his head, he realised that she must have been seventeen when she was pregnant with him and that was young, even for Imperials. Certainly, she was reckless sometimes but he never thought it would get that bad. He immediately began to feel rather angered towards this dead father of Lucien, _How could he do that to her and not even be alive to help her?_

Remarkably, Burd did not react as badly as he ought to have done. He only gave a small nod and went on, "Haecuba told me you're going to be taking part in a big battle upcoming outside Bruma."

Volanaro's eyes widened. So the rumours _were_ true. After Lucien said yes, Burd went on in a professional kind of tone, "As Captain of the Guard, I would like to debrief you on stretegies. My house will do for a private conversation. I hope you don't mind, Lavinia."

"No, Burd. Mind your manners, Lucien."

When the door closed behind them, Volanaro sneezed. Being doused in cold water was starting to get to him, "Oh, what an idiot you are, Volanaro!" Selena gave his shoulder a hefty smack, "Making a fool of yourself in front of Lavinia and her son! Go and dry yourself off."

"Don't worry." Lavinia muttered as he passed her, "I don't mind you making a fool of yourself in front of me."

_Burd_

He led the boy to his house with a strong sense of deja vu. He felt that being alone with Lucien would help them connect. For, he did want to connect with him. He was Lavinia's son and, as her de facto father, he felt a duty to. Burd wondered if the boy would allow himself to be called his grandson. At the moment, it didn't seem likely but it was early days yet.

After lighting the lamps, he busied himself with the tea set again. Lucien just sat quietly at the table like Lavinia used to do. Unlike Lavinia, he didn't take any sugar in his tea and simply sipped it without anything else. Burd filled the silence with details about the battle that he was sure Lucien knew already from his mother. He listened politely, keeping dark eyes on him over his teacup.

When he had finished, Lucien set down his empty cup, "I would depart at this moment except I knew everything you told me before I got here. Surely, you would have thought that my mother would have informed me of this. I believe you have an ulterior motive."

_He's good._ Burd managed to think straight under his glare, though he could feel himself growing unavoidably hot under the collar, "I do. Haecuba didn't tell me anything about you apart from you being my adoptive daughter's son. So, Lucien, what's your story?"

The boy blinked, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, he sighed, "Very well. My mother certainly will not inform you so I may as well. I promise you that you will not like it, though."

"I may not like a lot of things but I can cope with them." Burd began to prepare himself for whatever bad thing was coming. After a moment of staring at him in an icy kind of way, he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath,

"I did not know my mother until two weeks ago. She was unable to look after me since she was not in a good position to give me a happy and dangerless life. In fact, she believed her very presence would give me nothing but misery and misfortune. She may have been right or she may not be. That is not of concern. Therefore, she left me in the care of the priestesses of the Chapel of Bravil and left my life."

Burd was torn between being shocked that Lavinia would do something like that and reasoning with himself that she must have believed the danger very great to allow herself to seperate from her son. Lucien was watching his face carefully, of course, but he wouldn't let any sign of shock or digust appear there. If he was anything like his mother, that would be enough to scare him away, "But, she came back, of course."

"She left me instructions to summon her if I wished to meet her. She did not wish to force a reunion upon me and so graciously left me directions to her. I must admit that, out of misguided hatred that is now regretted, I did not heed them until now."

"I see. So, did you stay in the Chapel of Bravil all your life or...?"

"No. In fact, I must have been shunted around every chapel in Cyrodiil."

"Why?" Burd knew he was taking a bit of a gamble by asking this. It was bound to be a soft spot and he was right by the small twitch of the hand. However, Lucien carried on without betraying anything in his voice,

"Misfortune followed me. You know how superstitious chapelgoers are. Their _vast intellects _came up with the conclusion that I was cursed and thus, I was no longer welcome there. So, this happened over and over again. I ended up moving on of my own accord as soon as something happened, for that is better than being sent away. The last chapel I was employed by was the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch. I stayed there longer than usual on the advice of one of the few friends I had. Of course, my curse did not go simply because of a good friend. Another misfortune and that was the last straw. I was forced to flee Bruma and have been under the care of my mother's guild ever since."

His story was not detailed in the slightest but it did not need any. Burd knew that it would be foolish to ask more of him at this stage. He suddenly realised how much he was comparing Lavinia to her son. Certainly, he acted a little like her but he had never known her until recently so how could he have got his personality from her? _Maybe it's all in my head,_ he thought, ruefully.

Lucien's eyes flicked to the small part of Lavinia's old room that was visible from the table. It still hadn't been cleared out but most of the pictures had been put away and Lavinia would probably not like him preserving her old room a bit, "You were her de factor father, I hear?"

"Yes, I was." Burd nodded, glad that the conversation was becoming less like an interview, "I looked after her for nine years. Her father left her with me when she was five."

This struck a chord with Lucien, as he raised an eyebrow in interest and Burd belatedly realised why when he asked, "Could her father not look after her either?"

"Something along those lines, yes. Mind you, you were luckier than she was. At least, you got to meet your mother again. Her father died soon after I took her back to Cyrodiil. You're named after him, you know."

"I know." He nodded. Something in his face changed when Burd called him lucky.

The conversation after that went rather pleasantly. Lucien's initial coldness vanished quicker than his mother's had (though he still kept some details to himself) and, soon, they were chatting aimlessly away like old friends until his mother came to pick him up. He waved them both off with happy promises to meet them on the battlefield. Or, happy as a promise like that could be.

_Martin_

The big day dawned bright and cloudless. Many of the Blades saw this as a sign that the battle would go well. Martin too felt that, although he kept it to himself. He did not want to seem overconfident as he had been told that could sometimes reduce morale. Jauffre kept asking him whether it was really the only way to go and how the Countess would not agree to this. His Septim's instinct helped him not to sway, though, and he kept to his decision.

Lavinia, Lucien and Haecuba sat together in the main hall, talking in low fervant voices. Neither of them had slept very much the previous night and no one could really blame them. They were the turning points of the battle, after all. If anyone had the right to feel under pressure, it was them.

Lavinia and Lucien had even got into an argument over who would enter the Great Gate. He wanted to go in since he could close Gates quicker than anyone else but, of course, Lavinia would never let her son take such a risk. Haecuba tried to act as a mediator but it was only when Martin intervened did Lucien finally agree that his mother was the one to enter it, though he was moody for hours afterwards.

Haecuba only remained quiet, pouring over her books on Restoration, insisting that this would be one of her main duties in battle. Though, Martin could not see why she needed to since she was already a Master at it. However, she insisted that looking over the text again was never a waste. An hour before the battle, Jauffre called him into a private room in the armoury. His Septim's instinct told him something very exciting was waiting for him there before the door had even been opened. Of course, it wasn't wrong.

On the wall hung a magnificent golden set of armour. Its design was the same as the Imperial Legion armour but only much grander. The armour was fit for an Emperor, Martin could see that even without his Septim's instinct,

"Imperial Dragon Armour." Jauffre said, from the side, "The last person who wore this was your brother before he was assassinated. Now, I feel appropriate that you should wear it in the coming battle."  
Martin nodded. He knew this already and was eager to try it on, even though he had never even touched a piece of armour in his life. When Jauffre left him to get changed, Martin was already taking it down. Now, for the first time, he was beginning to feel more like an Emperor. The humbleness of a priest was still in him but the fortitude and confidence of a ruler was blossoming.

The armour was a perfect fit, although Jauffre had said it had once belonged to his brother. Maybe it could alter itself to fit any Septim who wore it. He wouldn't be surprised if it did. The way the armour just slid on was like it was made just for him. The sword that came with it was just the icing on the cake. The armour wasn't as thick as he thought it would be but he was sure that there were some spells on it that made it difficult to break. Not that he didn't feel invincible already.

All previous worries left him and he marched out of the room, back straight and head high, to get someone to talk to the Countess about the battle. If he had been more arrogant, he would have revelled in the Blades doing double takes but he wasn't that kind of person. He just kept on walking and pretended they weren't there.

Ten minutes after he'd had a word with Jauffre, everyone of the Blades were suited and ready to go. Pre-battle nerves were beginning to settle and some of the younger Blades exchanged pledges to make it out alive. Martin was still swelled with anticipation. His Septim's instinct told him that there was nothing to fear but he endevoured to temper it. They weren't going to win just because of overconfidence.

Lavinia was now back in her Kvatch cuirass, rescued claymores and a leather bag slung across her for the Great Sigil Stone, not looking a bit like she had gone through a difficult birth not two weeks ago. He had to thank Haecuba for healing her so well. Vicente was with the Draconis family (though he was not sure his mother had told him who the baby was), who was surprisingly content to stay with strangers. Perhaps he had inherited Septim's instinct from his father and knew Perennia would not harm him,

"Are you feeling alright about this, Lavinia?" He asked, after Haecuba had been sent to arrange a meeting with the Countess, "I know it's asking a lot to let the Mythic Dawn proceed with their plan to destroy your hometown, especially if the people you grew up with are one of those leading the charge."

"To a degree, I will allow it." Her cold attitude was firmly back in place. Perhaps, it was a sign of nerves, "What I am more concerned over is your involvement in the battle. I am not at all comfortable with you going into battle after less than a year of combat training, whoever it came from. I would be much more comfortable if you stayed in Cloud Ruler Temple."

"If I am to Emperor, it's time I started acting like one." Martin insisted. Her argument was logical, of course. Compared to her, he had not gone through much training, "Besides, believe it or not, after months of being here, I'm rather sick of this place."

"You are dressed like an Emperor, I must admit." Lucien spoke from the side, leaning against one of the pillars, "To think, a few weeks ago, I thought I would only see you in a priest's robe. Or, in funeral sheets."

"It's also most strange to think that, last year, you told me you wanted nothing to do with the gods' plans." Lavinia added, carelessly, "And, that I wanted nothing to do with them, either."

"Nobody who gets into these things does." Lucien gave a profound sigh, "It is not only cliched but a fact of life. And, Martin, please do not try and say anything profound about divine plans not mattering and only doing what's right in the face in evil. That would just make this seem more like a bad fantasy book than it already is."

"Not a fan of fantasy books, are you, Lucien?" Lavinia smiled, as Martin held his tongue and reminded himself to only make inspirational speeches away from Lucien, "I know that the gods have never played a part in this from the start. I have never acted on the gods' word once and probably never will knowing my career choice. I have only acted on my instinct from the minute I met Martin's father. I always saw battle as a return to animalistic instincts with no possible refinement to it so I let my instinct guide me to whatever purpose it deems necessary. The gods never spoke in my ear to act and I suppose they did not speak in yours either, Martin."

"They haven't." This was not perhaps the entire truth but he didn't know whether his Septim's instinct counted as divine intervention, "And, you're right. It's up to our instinct."

Lucien rolled his eyes to the heavens.

Haecuba came back with an uneasy agreement from the Countess. With a great scuffling and hurrying of last preparations, Martin, Jauffre and 'the three Heroes of Kvatch' (as they were called amoung the Blades) marched out of Cloud Ruler Temple. The path was remarkably ice-free. It was almost as though nature had made it that way to ensure he didn't make a fool of himself on this important day.

If he had done this without his Septim's instinct, he was sure that he would have surely faltered terribly and not be able to take the first step into Bruma. However, with Lavinia and Lucien by his side and the Septim inside him radiating, he strode through the gates without a pause and ready for anything. He now knew why they called it 'Dragonblood'. A kind of fire was in his veins, slowly building with every step he took.

The council of war took place in the Chapel of Talos, as Martin requested it. He felt it was a fitting place, even though he had never been to that particular chapel. The priests were all in the undercroft and no one was seated in the pews. The Countess only stood with the haughty look that everyone expected to accompany someone of nobility. This softened when she saw Lavinia and Martin knew that they were childhood friends.

His Septim's instinct allowed him to talk diplomatically to the Countess and he finally managed to persuade her to stop her men closing any more Gates. Just as they finished their council, a Bruma guard hurried through the doors,

"Soren!" Lavinia gasped in recognition, "What's the problem?"

"Not really a problem, ma'am. There's just this...army here. Said they were...your guild."

"My-?" Her eyes grew wide, as well as Heacuba's, Lucien's and Martin's. The Dark Brotherhood surely couldn't be here, could they? Nerves began to build up, despite his Septim's instinct. He had only met four members and he felt that was enough. To meet the whole of the guild...

Lavinia reached the door first. Even Burd and the Countess approached, curiously peering around the door. And, what a sight they got!

It looked like an Imperial Legion formation. Four sets of around a dozen people, each wearing the same black guard-style light armour and handkerchieves over their faces like Lucien. In place of what would usually be the town's symbol was instead the Black Hand, showing at once that they were from the Dark Brotherhood. The only ones who didn't were three people marching up the steps towards them. An Imperial with a baggy face like an old dog, a Dunmer with blue skin and a broad grin and,

"Arquen!" Lavinia was the first to speak and Martin almost started at the sound of shock in her voice, "Belisarius! Banus! What is this?"

"Listener," Arquen shocked all of them by speaking in a perfectly steady and fearless voice, "you cannot expect us to let our leader of twenty years to go to battle without any of us to make sure nothing happens to you."

"I-I don't need-"

"Oh, hush, hush, Listener!" The Dunmer that Martin supposed was Banus flapped his hands in a rather effeminate manner, "None of us have even seen an Oblivion Gate before and here you are, having all the fun to yourself. It's very selfish and naughty of you! As well as taking my Silencer from me like that! Raven, do come here!"

To his mother's astonishment, Lucien threw off his cloak, revealing identical armour, and joined Banus. For what must have been one of the first times, Lavinia stood speechless. This gave Banus a chance to go on,

"But, it's such a shame that Alleno isn't here. We couldn't find him _anywhere!_"

"Don't worry about that, Speaker Alor." Haecuba spoke from behind him and all eyes turned to her cloaked figure, "I will lead the Sanctuary Hlaalu Brothers and Sisters in his stead." With that, she threw off her cloak, showing identical black armour to the Speakers, just like Lucien. Lavinia's eyes focused on her,

"You knew of this?" She snarled in a rather accusing voice, as though Haecuba had done some dreadful crime. Haecuba, however, stepped down to stand with the Speakers. Martin couldn't help but notice the annoyed expression on Arquen's face and the astonishment in Belisarius and Banus,

"Speaker Arquen requested that I design this armour when she found out about my clothes-making skills."

"Yes, and I was requested from those higher than you," For some reason, a chill went down Martin's spine, _Are they talking about Sithis and the Night Mother?_ "that you wear these in the final battles of this crisis."

She held out what looked like a helmet and a pair of gauntletts on top of a folded cloak. Lavinia took these and, as soon as Martin looked at them, the same chill went down his spine. This was more tolerable though and he was able to keep thinking straight this time. After examining them for a while, she pulled off her now very shabby Mythic Dawn hood where it lay, never to be picked up by her again.

The helmet was a dark golden colour with little points around it like a crown, the gauntletts had expecially pointed tips to the fingers that looked like they could cut through steel and the cloak was split into half pitch black and half blood red. These artefacts looked rather incongruous on Lavinia but it certainly made her look like the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.

The Speakers looked very pleased with how she looked, "Oh, you look _wonderful, _Listener!" cooed Banus, "All dolled up and ready for battle!" Martin didn't think 'dolled up' was a very appropriate expression,

"It's good that you are." The Imperial Speaker, Belisarius, finally spoke up, "There's an Oblivion Gate just opened outside Bruma. Probably opened in the last half hour."

Lavinia's seriousness reappeared at once when she turned to Martin, "What say you, Your Highness? We advance now?"

It was strange to hear her called him 'Your Highness' and he hoped he wouldn't do it often. Still, he nodded, "There's no sense in waiting. Jauffre," He called over his shoulder, "call all the soldiers to the Oblivion Gate. I'll be waiting there."

"Speakers," Lavinia spoke over the mass of black before her, "lead our brothers and the soldiers to the Gate. Speaker Arquen, you go first followed by Arius, Alor and Haecuba."

"Yes, Listener!" The four of them chorused and, with a great organised surge, the black soldiers hurried out of Bruma, past the townsfolk who had gathered to see off the soldiers. Martin could only imagine how strange it must be for those assassins to go to battle to cheers from the people who once reviled them. The guardsmen from the other cities that Haecuba had done a wonderful job of gathering followed and finally, Martin, Lavinia, Jauffre and Baurus were left,

"Jauffre, Baurus, guard Martin with your life." Lavinia ordered, in that tone that offered no chance of contradiction, "Come. It is time to put an end to those dratted daedra."

Her hard-muscled arms raised and her claw-liked hands grasped her claymores. They came away from her back without a sound and the Hero of Kvatch led them out of Bruma. This time, the town exploded with sound, louder than the Arena crowd at Kvatch. Many called Martin's name and his Dragonblood swelled within him once more but most of them shouted Lavinia's name. The Draconis family were there, waving and wishing her luck. Perennia had tears in her eyes. As they passed through the gates, they spotted Volanaro and J'skar punching the air and calling out to her at the top of their voices,

"Do it for Bruma!"  
"Give them hell!"

In no time at all, the Gate loomed up before them, overshadowing the huddle of soldiers about twenty feet from it. The memory of the Great Gate at Kvatch flooded back to him but his terror had vanished. In fact, only fortitude came to him. He would never let that happen again. Martin caught Lucien's eye as he and Lavinia marched to the front and winked. Seeming to know what he was about to do, Lucien's dark eyes rolled in exasperation. Now, he was facing his soldiers. Over fifty of them were there, staring at him. Perhaps even a hundred. This wasn't like addressing the Blades at Cloud Ruler Temple when he had stuttered and stumbled through a very awkward speech.

Now, the words came straight to him as he marched back and forth like an army general, his voice emboldened beyond recognition. The Gate behind him seemed only to strengthen him rather than strike him with fear,

"Soldiers of Cyrodiil! The Empire will stand or fall by what we do here today! Will we let the daedra do to Bruma what they did to Kvatch? Will we let them burn our homes? Will we let them kill our families?" The memories of terrified Kvatch citizans being mown down by daedra played before him but he did not falter, "_No!_ We make our stand here, today, for the whole of Cyrodiil! We must hold fast until the Hero of Kvatch can destroy their Great Gate. We must kill whatever comes out of that Gate."

Now, there was a great scraping of swords being drawn. The sky was darkening, turning the white snow under their feet and eerie luminous red. All this only made Martin stronger, as he spoke the last words,

"Soldiers of Cyrodiil, do you stand with me?"

There was a great cry of ascent, along with the battle cries of every city. Among the tumult, he heard the familar voice of Savlian Mattias crying, "For Kvatch!" and his heart gave a leap.

Lavinia glanced behind her at the glowing red and yellow light, "Here they come!" Now, he was glad she was not hooded. The helmet allowed her hair to flow down her back like a waterfall of fire, glistening in the red light. Her voice raised as she pointed her swords to the tainted heavens like some terrible goddess of war, "_Now, warriors, in the name of the last surviving Dragonborn and all we hold dear,_" She shouted this last word so loud that he was sure her voice reverberated through the mountains as she swung her claymores towards the gate, "_FORWARD!_"

The rest could not be reliably described for the utter pandamonium that reigned. He lost sight of Lavinia very quickly but he had no time to worry about that. He did not try to lose himself in the crowd of soldiers but his instincts would not allow it. Martin now knew why Lavinia thought fighting was a return to basic, animalistic instincts. He could not think logically or remember any plans. All that mattered was cutting down every daedra misfortunate enough to come his way.

There were a few near misses when a dremora managed to get behind him but Baurus' katana put a halt to their efforts. Martin's good opinion of him intensified as he saw the Redguard defend him admirably but his attention quickly went back to fighting. Looking back, he was amazed at how well he managed to stay alive. Perhaps the Dragonblood gave him the strength of the dragons as well.

After an unknown amount of time, Martin looked around and saw the Great Gate tower above them, twice the size of ordinary Gates and spewing out five times the amount of daedra. A dark figure charged at it, a claymore in each hand, and vanished into the hell portal, _Lavinia..._In between slashing the heads of daedroths, he sent a silent prayer to the gods that she would come out alive.

As he was fighting, he remembered that there would probably be only a limited amount of time before the Seige Engine came out and even she couldn't defeat something like that. Still, he had keep at it. The daedra were still coming. Whenever he killed one, another three were always there to take its place. He didn't know how many were dead. He knew that Lavinia would mourn every one of her allies that died.

After an unmeasurable amount of time, a great tremour went through the ground and all the fighting stopped. The dremora that was about to clash with Martin stopped and looked round, letting Martin lop off its head before he halted to stare at what was happening too. His heart stopped at the sight of a great black cylindrical machine, glowing fire at the centre and many legs like a spider. _The Daedric Seige Engine._

For a moment, he thought all was lost. That, Lavinia had been killed and that foul engine was going to trample all over Bruma. Then, he realised by the great columns of fire and flying debris that the Gates were closing. That had certainly not happened in Kvatch. As everyone watched, the fire in the engine flickered and died. Cracks appeared, spreading all over the black metal, and, with a crashing din, it broke into pieces. This frightening him for a second since people around it could get crushed but the pieces rusted and turned to ash before reaching the ground, blowing away in the wind, never to be seen again.

When all the ash had blown away and the remains of the gate lay in shards on the snow, there she was. Standing victorious with a full bag and helmet under her arm so her hair flew around her. For a moment, everyone stood still except for the few soldiers who were sensible enough to cut down the remaining daedra. Then, a great almighty cheer rose from the crowd. Martin himself would have punched the air and cheered but his Septim's instinct told him that was not appropriate.

The soldiers rushed forward to commend her on bringing them victory in loud voices. Arquen reached her first and actually hugged her so tight that she lifted Lavinia right off her feet. Something she probably wouldn't dare do on any other occasion. Martin could see the tears of joy shining on Banus' bloody face as he embraced her too. Haecuba gave her a big hug too and got straight to work healing a few bloody wounds. They didn't look life-threatening though and she was still standing,

"Where's Belisarius?" Lavinia called over the racket,

"Over here!" The crowd parted and quietened a little as Leontes Harla, his ponytail chopped off and his armour battered, carried a limp black figure on one shoulder in a fireman's lift. His axe was being carried between three Dark Brotherhood soldiers, who still strained despite the team effort. Banus blanched at the sight of him and his once unwavering smile vanished abruptly. Lavinia's face fell and, for a moment, Martin thought he was dead. Then, Leontes gave the Imperial a good whack over the head, "Get your head up, guard! You're not dead yet!"

"Urgghh..." Belisarius' groan was audible in the quietened battlefield as he clutched his barely raised head "...I'll never do this again..."

Lavinia's bright smile returned and she actually kissed him on both cheeks before hurrying away to find Lucien. Martin wasn't sure whether Belisarius' gobsmacked expression was because of the kisses or the concussion. Arquen recovered from her shock first and asked, "Lord Harla, what are you doing here?"

"Don't ask me. I still think I was stupid for getting involved." He fingered his shortened hair in an annoyed way as soon as he set Belisarius on his feet.

The initial joy was dying down now and people were beginning to search for missing comrades. Martin too joined the search for familiar faces. His first one was not a happy discovery. He found Jauffre lying dead, with three daedric arrows in his back and a deep wound in his abdomen that looked like he was almost cut in half. Baurus found the Grandmaster shortly after he did and, with downcast eyes, said, "He died the death all Blades dream of; in a great battle defending the Empire. He was Grandmaster when I joined the Blades and there isn't a Blade in Cloud Ruler Temple who wasn't trained by him at some point. His loss is a great one."

"Find his sword." Martin murmured, as he blinked back tears, "Tell the Blades to bring his body back to Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Yessir."

With that loss weighing heavy on him, he continued his search, though his eyes flicked to the ground more often that they had before. Burd was found supporting Caelia, whose left arm was only a three-inch stump, and calling for a healer. That lightened his spirits somewhat. If he had died, Lavinia would have been inconsolable. Snow had begun to fall rather heavily for the time of year, partially covering the bodies still left unfound. Still, there was no sign of Lucien. Then, just as he was starting to lose hope, his foot hit something solid and covered by snow. He would have just walked on by had the object not cried, "Ouch!" in a familiar voice,

"Lucien?"

Martin hastened to brush off the snow and found Lucien, lying on the ground with the broken bone sticking out of his leg and his arm hanging limply. Though Martin was thankful he was alive, he knew that he needed help. Lucien winced as Martin hauled him up, clutching what looked like broken ribs,

"_Haecuba!_" He called over the noise. It was the only person he could think of to seek help from, "_Haecuba! Over here!_"

She shoved her way through the crowd, closely followed by Lavinia, Banus and Leontes. Lavinia gave a small, high-pitched scream at the sight of her son and Banus became almost hysterical,

"Raven! Raven! Oh, Raven!"

"Oh, hold your noise, boy!" snarled Leontes, "Fussing like that will only make him lose the will to hang on! Now, make yourself useful and hold him up. Don't leave that up to the Dragonborn."

Nodding timidly, Banus hurried to take Lucien off Martin's hands, still murmuring hysterical nonsense under his breath. Haecuba was already at work healing his ribs, her hands glowing bright blue. Lavinia faced Martin, hands on her hips, "I've been tearing this battlefield upside down looking for you two!"

Martin jumped and blushed a little, "Ah..."

Her anger vanished as soon as it came. With that, she tugged off his helmet, dropped hers, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. The babble around them turned into a collective 'oooh' but Martin ignored it in favour of kissing her back. When they finally seperated, Lavinia was smiling warmly,

"I knew you wouldn't be cowardly enough to die."

"Wouldn't-wouldn't dream of it." Martin smiled back through his blushing. If it was worth that, he would make sure he survived every attack the daedra threw at him.

A/N: A bittersweet kinda ending. I have the feeling that at least one beloved character should die in a big battle at the end. It's just unrealistic to keep everybody alive, isn't it?


	45. Chapter 44: The Redeemed&The Dragonborn

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter! It's been a right old roller coaster of a journey through Lavinia's world, hasn't it? I've decided to put the last chapter and the epilogue together since it's not worth keeping you waiting for a rather unimportant chapter.

**Commentaholic:** I know it's painful to lose Jauffre but it had to be done! And, I would never kill off Banus! He's way too much fun!

**Lunatic Pandora1: **So, he will. So, he will.

**Shadow Pegasus: **Thanks!

**BloodAndDiamonds: **Banus makes me laugh too!

**Arty Thrip: **Yeah. Don't we all wish we could have saved Lucien?

**Broken Daggers**

**Chapter 44: The Redeemed and the Dragonborn**

_Eldamil_

It was the old lust for change and to be in power that had brought him back. An almost voyeuristic hunger for new and terrible possibilities. He was amazed that Mankar Camoran had allowed him back at all. It was a mark of how disgustingly vital he was to the operation. Ruma and Raven still didn't trust him of course, which was why they sent him down for torture work in the Forbidden Grotto at the first sign of weakening. So, he knew that, here, he would languish probably forever.

He had tried to gain favour again but, soon after he had died during the sack of Kvatch, a Breton formerly known as Eugal Belatte sought out Eldamil to tell him how he had died. This story was what made him come back to his senses.

After being caught, he was dragged to Weynon Priory, questioned and then killed by a Dunmer woman wearing a Mythic Dawn hood and a Kvatch cuirass. This information was rather inconclusive but the fact that the people who had snatched him were dressed in dark, leathery armour with a hood. The way he had been killed, quickly with a dagger to the neck, confirmed it. Mankar spoke to the ascended immortals to give them the news that their old enemy, the Dark Brotherhood, were moving against them,

"But, have no fear. The might Dagon is enough to smite Sithis, his shameless mistress and their blinded offspring. Some of you may think that, because we kill, we are like them. We kill to provide new birth, however. They kill only to create darkness and nothingness. Dagon has seen that the leader of the Dark Brotherhood has taken the helm in the resistance against us and the denizens of Old Tamriel hail her as the Hero of Kvatch."

This sentence caught Eldamil's attention. He was so distracted that he didn't hear the rest. It took him a while to delve into his memory and remember why it affected him so. It was seeing the fire of the pits that made him recall the very reason he had first deserted the Mythic Dawn. It reminded him of her hair.

In a way, it was fitting. Almost poetic. Just like last time, that girl had come to bring him back to his senses and destroy the Mythic Dawn. It didn't stop him feeling terribly guilty and regretful, though. What would she think if she knew he was here? Would she even remember the traitor that was pushed into rescuing her by an unholy vampire ghost?

After about the hundredth time these thoughts went through his mind, the familiar chill went up his spine as another dremora passed him. He thought he would get used to it since he had been here for so long but, still, the screams of the tortured immortals harrowed him to the core. Sometimes, he wished he was in the lava with them just so he had something to take his mind off the others. It made him feel extremely guilty to be standing in the boiling cave out of harm's way while others were suffering.

He vaguely recognised the passing dremora as Kathutet and saw him marching towards the door. How he longed to follow him. Though, he knew it would be no better outside than inside. Except maybe the air would be a bit cooler and fresher. So, he stayed in the cave, trying to hide in his hood and not attract the dremora's attention. Daedra did not make good conversationalists. Kathutet was the best one to talk to but that wasn't saying much. Though he wasn't that loyal to Mankar, he would still only talk to those he deemed worthy. Those people did not include Eldamil.

As the door closed, Eldamil returned to ordering around the immortals to torture the prisoners. The usual orders with no thinking behind them. Seconds after he'd given the orders, the regret settled in him again. How could he have allowed himself to relapse back into the Mythic Dawn? Any sensible person would have learned their lesson after the first time he defected.

Then, he heard Mankar Camoran's voice, projected over the Savage Garden and permeating into the Forbidden Grotto, So, the cat's-paw of the Septims arrives at last. You didn't think you could take me unawares, here of all places? In the Paradise that I created? Look now, upon my Paradise, Gaiar Alata, in the old tongue. A vision of the past... and the future. Behold the Savage Garden, where my disciples are tempered for a higher destiny: to rule over Tamriel Reborn. If you are truly the hero of destiny, as I hope, the Garden will not hold you for long. Lift your eyes to Carac Agaialor, my seat at the pinnacle of Paradise. I shall await you there."

A thrill of emotion he hadn't felt in a long time coursed through him and there was a low buzz of mutters among torturers and tortured alike. It had been so long and, now, the Hero of Kvatch was here, invading Paradise? A thousand questions went through him that would never be answered if he just stood here. How did she enter Paradise? Was she prepared for what lay ahead?

The strongest question in his mind, though, was: will she be able to finally kill Mankar Camoran? His hopes were now running wild. Would all this eternal suffering end for all of them? Could she really put a stop to this madness and halt Camoran's insanity? He tried to pull in his imagination but it was no use. Slowly, he crept around the caves, closer to the exit. He tried to tell himself that Kathutet would put an end to any intentions of invading the grotto but he had the feeling that he would not stop her for long. She probably killed dremora like him as a warm-up if half the rumours coming into the Grotto were true.

Sure enough, Camoran's voice rang through the air, trying to dissuade her from fighting them anew with his theory about Tamriel being a daedric realm owned by Lorkhan and that it was fruitless to stop Lord Dagon. The sort of thing he'd use to persuade new recruits and all of it, Eldamil had heard before. It was what seduced him, after all. He tried to tune out but Camoran's voice had a strange ability to stay in one's head even if one didn't want it to. He just hoped that she had the strength to ignore it.

Sounds of dying daedra and immortals reached his ears but he did not move. He kept his back against the wall, looking for a figure that was not red-robed among them. She was coming closer, he could tell. Eldamil began to fix the vague memory of her in his mind so he could notice her quickly. Half-formed plans were racing into his brain quicker than he could pin them down to properly organise them.

He could see a glimpse of white in the passage at the other end of the room and he still didn't know what to do. The nearby daedroth that he had been half-hiding from lunged at her but was only impaled on a long elven claymore. The lizard fell with a heavy thump on the floor and slid down into the lava pit below.

Out of the shadows came a Dunmer girl. It was the Hero of Kvatch, no doubt, and the one he had rescued twenty years ago (he would recognise her hair a mile away) but she looked so different now. Her arms were bulky and muscly, enabling her to wield two claymores at once, while the rest of her looked very thin. Almost sickly. His heart sank anew when he saw that she had managed to get the Bands of the Chosen and they were locked around her wrists so tightly that he thought it might be cutting off circulation.

She spotted him at once but her expression didn't change. At first, Eldamil thought she didn't recognise him but she wasn't raising her swords so she did not seem likely to attack him. He swallowed once and stepped out of the passage, "Lavinia."

"Eldamil." She acknowledged him with a small nod. Her face was blank, showing nothing like an assassin should, "I wondered if I would see you somewhere here."

"Yes. I was told by one of the souls here that you had asked after me. I know this isn't where you would have wanted to find me." He found he could not look at her now and he kept his eyes on the ground,

"I was angry when I first discovered it but I know it is not easy to abandon something you have pledged your loyalty to."

Eldamil swallowed and managed to look back up at her, "I admire you for having the strength of mind and body to come here. I know most law-abiding soldiers would not dare set foot in this place."

"It really is not any different from the Oblivion gates I have encountered. The only difference here is that most of the enemies I encounter here look more human. But, enough of this banter. You must know why I am here. My goal is to kill your master, Mankar Camoran. I did not kill you immediately because you saved my life twenty years ago. My debt is now repaid but, if you let me pass, I will not harm you."

"Can you really do it?" His hope was beginning to seep into his voice, giving it more energy than it had possessed in what felt like years, "Can you really bring this eternal nightmare to an end? Can you defeat Mankar Camoran? And, free all the souls of the poor fools that followed him?" He held his rampant tongue at that, fearing they would be there for days if it went unchecked. Her eyes widened slightly at his words but her face quickly smoothed over once more, "Listen," He looked around for anyone listening and dared to move closer to her so he could talk quietly with her (he was glad her voice was so quiet anyway), "I can help you. You need my help if you are ever to leave the Forbidden Grotto."

Her eyes widened at this proposition but her face smoothed over once more just as fast, "The last I remembered, you were one of Camoran's greatest liutenants. Why has your loyalty wavered once more?"

Eldamil took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice neutral, "I was at the sack of Kvatch. They stood no chance. We took them by surprise and we carried the walls in the first assault. But, they fought on anyway. Desperately. They seemed to think this decadent, mundane world of theirs was worth defending."

"As do I." Lavinia added, shortly, and Eldamil felt a heat around his neck that had nothing to do with the lava,

"I was slain after the battle was over. Three townsfolk hiding in the cellar attacked me when I entered their house, searching for survivors."

Her face tightened at the mention of him hunting down survivors and the heat increased,

"They tore me to pieces, though I have no doubt they were immediately killed by my companions." He tried to inject a little remorse into his voice to please her but it did not work. Her face was still disapproving so he quickly evaded the topic, "I've had plenty of time to ponder my deeds since I came here. Ponder...and regret. An eternity of regret."

This pleased her somewhat and his blush vanished as her face relaxed, "Is that why Camoran sent you into this dungeon? Because you showed disloyalty and weakness in his eyes?"

"That's right. I am now ordered to torture my former comrades who showed similar ingratitude for his gift of eternal life." He felt that 'gift' was a very poor choice of words. Lavinia examined him for a while, her eyes roaming his face looking for any trace of deceit. When she was done, she took a few steps past him and peered into the chamber beyond where he had just come from. After a long pause, she said without turning,

"How do you propose to help me? Have you found a secret way out in your time here?"

"I have tried many times to find and was punished every time. If I had found a way to escape this place without the Mas-Camoran noticing, I would be long gone. And, I'm afraid you won't stand much of a chance, either. No one wearing the Bands of the Chosen can leave this Grotto. The doors will not open."

"I gathered that. You do not wear them though. Do you have the power to remove them?"

"I do but I need time. The dremora overseer will be here any minute to check up on me."

Lavinia returned to him, a claymore slightly raised, "Dremoras, I can deal with."

"That would cause a riot, though. It's much safer if you act like you are my prisoner and-"

"I am quite tired of being a Mythic Dawn prisoner." Her sharp voice cut across him, making his own voice sounding weak by comparison, "I will not even pretend to be one. Even if I did, it would not work. My face is too well-known among the daedra and dremora. I know this by the sight of them fleeing at the sight of me as of late when I enter their Oblivion Gates. The overseer will see the trickery immediately and you will be killed for it unnecessarily."

He was about to say that Camoran's immortality would prevent that from happening but Orthe's arrival halted his speech. A thrill of fear went through him at the sight of his dark red, horned face, uglier than normal dremora. His insides turned to ice when he saw that the two other overseers were with him, both with eyes like rats and glaring at the pair of them. He saw at once that Lavinia was right: the pair of them jumped when they recognised her and one tried to hide behind Orthe,

"What is this?" The raspy voice coming from Orthe's mouth was full of rage, "What are you doing with our enemy, worm?"

"Get back." She finally turned her head to Eldamil, pointing one of her claymores at the wall. Gulping, he retreated away from her, hoping that the dremoras' fear of her was well-deserved. Orthe fell in the first strike and the other two tried to flee but were cut down in an instant. The figures that Eldamil had learned to fear and pretend to respect fell like autumn leaves while she stood tall without a scratch. He now realised why she was so feared by the Mythic Dawn and he felt very glad that his loyalty to Camoran had wavered.

She turned back to him, "Now, will you remove the Bands?"

With a hasty nod, he got to work casting the spells upon the metal to coax them off. They seemed to know who was wearing them because it was particularly difficult to remove but he still managed it. The Bands were then thrown away into the lava pits, emitting foul-smelling dark smoke as they were destroyed. Camoran's voice spoke to Lavinia again but, doing a superb job of ignoring him, she turned back to Eldamil,

"Though the daedra in this caves are easy, I will need a guide to find my way to Carac Agaialor. I trust you are not troubled by facing your old master."

"I'm not." Eldamil nodded, more fortified than ever, "I know I'm not match for Camoran but I'm not without power. Besides, Ruma and Raven are probably at the palace so I'll distract them while you go for Camoran."

Lavinia nodded and suddenly frowned at the sound of Camoran's voice, "Is he always this full of hot air?"

"Ah, yes." Eldamil found himself chuckling. He was actually laughing for the first time in ages,

"He seems like the voice I could get bored of after a while. I sincerely hope he does not intend to give me another speech when we get into Carac Agaialor or else, I will be here all day. Come along, then. Lead me to him, so I can stop his voice permanently."

He led her through the well-trodden catacombs, cutting down daedra and torturer alike. Lavinia tried to rescue the people in the cage but Eldamil held her back since he knew no way to free them. She left them most reluctantly; she seemed to have an unusual hatred of seeing people in pain and it was easy to forget she was an assassin.

At last, after an easier journey than they should have had, they reached the door. Eldamil blinked against the sunset-coloured light shining onto the Savage Garden. It must have been months since he last saw it but, however pretty it was, he still knew of its dangers. Being very close to Carac Agaialor being the worst of those dangers.

Lavinia paused as the door swung closed with a loud bang. It was a while before she spoke, "I gathered that, in this world, once an immortal is killed, they are reborn soon after."

"That's true. But, when Camoran dies, we all do. And, we don't come back again."

"Even you?" She turned her head back and something in her voice made his heart did a small backflip,

"Even me." Eldamil nodded, for once feeling sad that he would die soon, "We've all died plenty of times here and most of us would be glad of not being resurrected again."

There was a small silence apart from her hands tightening on her claymores slightly, "By the way, how do you know my name? I do not remember giving it to any Mythic Dawn agents before they died."

"I, ah," Eldamil felt himself flush, "got it from your journal."  
This made her whip round, her hair seeming to burst into flames as it flew and her eyes were penetrating, "My journal? _You were the one who stole it?_"

"I didn't show it to anyone, I swear!" Eldamil raised his hands as though in surrender, "I just found it in your bags and had a look."

"Do you always read things meant for only one pair of eyes?"

Eldamil gulped, not knowing what to say. Lavinia just turned back to the path ahead,

"Did you read all of it or only part?"

His silence affirmed the former,

"I do hope you enjoyed it."

"Well, ah...I find just so...so...astonishing..." The words came out in a jumble, "You're astonishing. Everything you do is astonishing. To think-"

"Thank you, Eldamil. That will do." She raised an imperious hand, halting his rambling, "Where is it now?"

"I buried it. In a stone box at your tomb in Bruma."

"I never knew you were so poetic. After reading my journal, you must know why I do not like the idea of you dying, intrusive as you are." Her eyes lifted to the orange sky, that suddenly looked very drained of colour compared to her hair, "I know it is a foolish dream to try and save everyone I hold in my heart but I pursue it nevertheless. I am the unfortunate sort that does not realise impossibility is an impediment."

With that, she began walking up the hill towards Carac Agaialor. Eldamil tried not to show his fear as the Ayleid-like palace rose into view, along with two figures standing outside to greet them. They looked like ordinary red-robed Mythic Dawn members, of course, but he knew who they were. Ruma approached them first, her face darkened with rage but Eldamil found himself immune to her and, of course, so did Lavinia,

"You did not expect to see me again, did you?" She snarled at Lavinia's magnificently impassive face, "You have no grasp of the power that my father has at his command. You think you can stop us?" She said this with a snarl and waited for a reply. Eldamil tried to shrink behind Lavinia, his terrible cowardice raising its head again,

"Well, it would be terribly inconvenient if I didn't stop you." Lavinia replied politely, as though they were having a conversation at a dinner party, "It would make all my months of closing Oblivion Gates go to waste."

Ruma opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish for a moment at her nonchalance and Eldamil had to fight back a laugh. No matter what she said, Lavinia had a talent for achieving the impossible: making Ruma speechless. Then, the Altmer recovered herself and went on, "Soon, Mehrunes Dagon will walk upon Tamriel for the first time since the Mythic Age, and our victory will be complete. You'll be the first to fall, you mark my words! Your swords and shrewish tongue won't be enough to save you from being trampled under Lord Dagon's feet like a cockroach!"

"You know," She turned to Eldamil, with the same airy tone she'd used before, "if it's one thing I like about the Mythic Dawn, it's their talent for friendly greetings. They really know how to make you feel right at home."

He couldn't stifle his snort of laughter this time and Eldamil fought his sniggers for a good minute before Ruma cut across him,

"Come. My father wishes to great you in Carac Agaialor. You should be honoured that his will be the last words you hear before you die."  
Lavinia didn't have any witty comeback to that. Instead, she gave her adversary a small nod and walked towards the door. As Eldamil passed, Ruma hissed, "We'll deal with you after she's dead, treacherous worm!" Lavinia's strength seemed to permeate through the air around her like sweet perfume, making him not in the least inclined to flinch.

He followed her, keeping his eyes on her interesting red and black cloak as she walked through the door. He wondered if it was a treasure of the Dark Brotherhood; it certainly had that kind of feel about it with its silent, easy movements. Not to mention those claw-like gauntletts and crown-like helmet that he had not noticed in the limited light of the grotto.

Even with Lavinia's presence, he could not help but feel a small twinge of fear at the sight of the long, stone room lit even more dimly than the grotto with pale blue fire in lamps hanging from the ceiling. The air was cold and unwelcoming. How Raven and Ruma could come and go from the room without fear was beyond him. At the end of that long, bare room was Mankar Camoran's throne. He had only been here once before and that was when he was condemned to torture work in the grotto. Not a pleasant memory.

Ruma and Raven walked ahead of them to stand beside their father, looking like bodyguards for the blue-robed Altmer that stood out so easily among the usual red. Eldamil stood back a little and let Lavinia stand before him, claymores in her hands and ready,

"I understand you have one or six things to say to me, Mr Camoran." Her voice was low and calming, making Eldamil's jittery nerves,

"Things I had been waiting a long time to say to you, Champion of Old Tamriel. You, that is the last gasp of a dying age that breathes the stale air of false hope. I know your many names: Lenore, the Lonely Shadow, Alleno Hlaalu, the terror of the Imperial Legion, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Hero of Kvatch. Personally, I prefer your oldest name, simply Lavinia Portia Harla, the last ragged heir to a fallen clan defending the last ragged heir of the Septims. How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon."

"Hold it there, please." Lavinia raised a hand, making Ruma, Raven and Eldamil stare. No one had ever dared interrupt Camoran before, "You tell me that I do not understand Lord Dagon's might. You are correct but that does not change a thing. I do not need to understand my enemies. I only need to know that they are enemies. I do not need to know if I can defeat them, what will happen if I do not or if it is right to do so.

"I only fight because my instinct tells me to. Once my instinct tells me to kill, there is no force that can stop my attempt to satisfy it. My instinct has rarely told me to kill these past twenty years but it awoke when I heard the words 'Mythic Dawn' again. I have killed many of your people and ordered the deaths of more. You will forgive me, therefore, if I ignore your reasoning about Lorkhan and Dagon. To me, they are nothing more than the final bleatings of a lamb being led to the slaughter. It will not change your fate. Nor will it change those of anyone here."

She said all this so calmly while completely motionless, unlike Camaron who would gesticulate violently and project his voice as much as he could. Mankar Camoran just stared down at her for a few moments while Raven and Ruma looked disgusted. Then, he said, very quietly, "Your mind is simple and animalistic. You sacrifice wisdom for strength and I can see that I will not be able to reach you. A pity. No matter, though. To use your metaphor, it doesn't matter what a lamb does to intrigue its masters. It will still be killed."

There was no command to strike. Raven and Ruma moved on their own. Raven drew his sword and charged at her with a ferocious scream, only to be blocked by her ebony claymore. Ruma turned her attention onto Eldamil, whipped out her staff and shooting him with it. He only just managed to dodge and tried to think how he could get the staff away from her.

He didn't even get a single idea into his head before there was a flash of silvery white. With a dying gurgle, Ruma fell to the floor with Lavinia's elven claymore stuck in her chest. Eldamil took a few seconds to realise that she must have thrown the heavy sword at her. Within seconds, Raven fell to the ground as well. Eldamil, with a sudden burst of courage and the knowledge that they only had seconds before the both of them came back to life, hurried to Ruma's corpse and pulled out the claymore.

It was heavy in his thin arms but he pulled himself to hold it up as he saw Lavinia run towards a still-seated Mankar Camoran. The ebony claymore went straight into his chest but he knew it was not enough to kill him. It was too low below his heart and Mankar was so inhuman already that he could not be killed with anything but a blow to a vital part of him. Many would-be assassins had found that out. He had got their stories from the unfortunates in the Grotto.

Lavinia gasped at the lack of pain and, to her horror, Mankar grasped the claymore with growing strength, pulling it out with a widening smile,

"You look amazed, little lamb. See how much more powerful your master is."

The black claymore became a flash and Camoran's right arm fell to the floor. Eldamil watched all this, willing her to go for the heart or the neck. The heavy sword could probably cleave his head open if it tried. He didn't quite know what to do with the claymore in his hands. He had picked it up to make sure a now-stirring Ruma would not use it against Lavinia.

A flash of recklessness went through him. The opportunity was right there. It was his last chance to do something right this time around. Lavinia's ebony sword was heading for Camoran's heart but he had to make sure that he was killed beyond resurrection. Summoning all his strength into this final deed, he gripped the claymore tight, raised it ready and ran towards Camaron.

At the exact same time ebony pierced his chest, elven metal cleft his neck. By the sudden dizzyness and weakness he felt, he knew that it was done. As his legs failed him, he saw the Amulet of Kings fall from Camaron's lifeless, headless body and heard Lavinia's cry.

_Martin_

The centre of the room was suddenly ablaze with fiery light as a circular portal appeared where Lavinia had vanished. This meant only one thing: she had come back from Camoran's Paradise. The anxiously-waiting Blades around them watched the phenomenon with wide eyes. Lucien and Haecuba were moving cautiously forward as a dark shape emerged.

It was Lavinia, alright. Her swords were set on her back and she was carrying a very strange array of souvenirs from Paradise. In one hand, she clasped two blue-robed arms (probably a snack for Shadowmere) and she held the body of what looked like a Mythic Dawn member. Without saying another word, she proved Martin's presumptions right by opening the door, throwing out the arms and calling, "Shadowmere! Lunchtime!" Many of the Blades grimaced.

Martin strode over to her, careful not to trip over his new Emperor's robes but Lucien beat him into asking, "Who is that with you?"

"This is Eldamil." Her voice was steady and emotionless. The exact kind of voice that told him that she was pretending not to be upset, "He defected and helped me during my battle with Camoran. I wish for him to have a proper burial."

"I will take care of it, Madam Lavinia." Haecuba stepped forward and took the body from her, straining a little but managing to carry it to the door,

"Bury him close to my monument." Lavinia's voice made most of then jump, "And, when you are there, dig up my grave. There, you will find a stone box with a book inside. Take that book and leave it with Burd. I want no one to open it until I come to collect it. Is that understood?"

"Uh, yes, Madam Lavinia." It was clear she thought these instructions were just as strange as the others did. Once she had vanished, she turned to Martin,

"Mankar Camoran is dead and the Amulet of Kings is no longer in the hands of the enemy." Out from under her gauntlett, she produced an enormous red jewel on a thin golden chain. There was a collective gasp and 'oohs' from around the chamber as the Blades stared it. In the dimly-lit room, it seemed to glow in her hands, throwing patches of red light on the walls, and Martin didn't need his Septim's instinct to tell him that it was the Amulet of Kings.

Without a word, she raised her hand and dropped it around his neck. It settled on his chest as though it had meant to be there all his life. As soon as it touched his robes, he immediately felt the Dragonblood within him radiate twice as much as it had during the Battle of Bruma. Now, he truly felt like an Emperor. Going to take his claim to the Elder Council would just be a courtesy. An annoying political procedure that did not nothing but delay,

"How long will it take to assemble the Blades and go to the Imperial City to meet with the Elder Council?" Lavinia addressed the room as a whole,

"An hour, at most." Baurus, the newly-assigned acting Grandmaster (Martin could think of no other person but him to play the role), "Blades, get moving!"

The soldiers bustled about and another thing occurred to Martin that had not appeared before him before. The issue of the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One at the Imperial City. At first, he felt glad of this job. That would make his claim to the Elder Council seem less like a waste of time. Lavinia seemed to realise this too,

"You intend to go to the Imperial City to relight the Dragonfires, correct?"

"Yes, that's right. Unless I relight the Dragonfires, Dagon's invasion will continue. His efforts will probably be redoubled after the defeat of Camoran. But, we need to speak with Chancellor Ocato, though. I sent a herald to let him know I'm coming."

"Why?" She looked puzzled and he remembered what she had said to her grandfather about not being politically knowledgable,

"The Elder Council have ruled in an Emperor's absence. I don't expect any objections but we should defer to their authority."

"So, we must bring your claim to the throne to Chancellor Ocato." For some reason, she looked rather uneasy about this. Just as Martin was about to ask why, she raised a hand to finger her hair awkwardly and the gauntletts she had been given by Arquen caught the light. The idea popped into his head,

"You didn't run into him before the Oblivion crisis, did you?" He asked, with a significant look that gave her the subtle hint of what he really meant. Lavinia's wan cheeks flushed,

"Ah, a few times. Not on official business, of course, but during a sideline."

"What, exactly?" Martin lowered his voice so nosy Baurus couldn't hear,

"I recently stole something from his desk. An arrest warrent for one of my Speakers from Summerset Isle come with other papers for his signature. I burned it and got caught on the way out. Terribly careless of me, really. I had sneaked into the Imperial Palace before. That little mishap was why I was down in the prison in the first place, actually."

Martin too realised why their meeting would be an awkward one. Ocato probably would not be best pleased when he found out the Hero of Kvatch was a thief he had caught tampering with his paperwork,

"He never found out what I stole, actually." Lavinia went on in a lower voice, "I replaced it with a forgery of an arrest warrent for Adamus Phillida."

"_What_?" Martin struggled to keep his voice low. He had heard that Phillida got into some legal trouble when reading the Black Horse Courier when he had first arrived in Cloud Ruler Temple but he had dismissed it as gossip,

"Would you like to know what for? It's very funny."

"Go on."  
"Nine charges of indecent exposure and lewd behaviour in a public place."

Martin snorted with laughter. He couldn't help himself. Perhaps it was the amount of time he spent with her that made him find anything misfortune that befell the Imperial Legion funny. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Was he taken to the prison for that?"

"In the cell next to mine for a few days. It was terribly hard not to laugh as he was led past me. Martin, would it be too much trouble to ask Haecuba to come with you to see Ocato instead of me?"

"I don't see why not." Martin nodded, "Ah, Lavinia..." The thing he had been wanting to ask for ages was now welling up inside him, "...after this crisis is over and I am Emperor...I was wondering..."  
"Martin." She held up a hand, "Don't talk to me about things like that until all this is over."

He wondered if she knew what he was about to propose or not.

Presently, Haecuba returned from her task and the Blades were ready. The doors outside opened, the carriage was prepared outside, Shadowmere was persuaded to go slowly, Martin was ready to go to the Imperial City. Lucien and Haecuba sat in the carriage with him while Lavinia rode outside on Shadowmere. She went in and out of view as Shadowmere repeatedly became impatient and broke into a gallop whenever she could. Apparently, the arms had been a bribe to try and get her to go at a reasonable pace.

The Imperial City came into view and Martin peered out of the window to see White Gold Tower, the high tower that he had only ever seen in his dreams before. Martin tried to ask Lucien about the city but he simply said, "Unless you want intricate knowledge of secret passageways and ways to get into people's houses without them noticing, I am a poor source of information."

Haecuba was a better conversationalist and provided him with interesting talk about all the different districts. As the carriage rode into the city, Martin felt the Dragonblood heat up again. As one did when you knew you were coming home. It was so close now. In a moment, he would be lighting the Dragonfires and he would be hailed as Emperor Martin Septim.

Yet, something within him was uneasy. That little something that had risen when he was about to set off to find Lavinia. His heart sank. Something was going to wrong. Dagon was not going to just let him stop the invasion like that. It was not strong but definitely there. He took slight comfort in this. Whatever happened, it was going to be sorted out.

All too soon, they were walking through Green Emperor Way. The Imperial Legion hailed them as he went by (he supposed Lavinia, Haecuba and Lucien were feeling a bit strange at this). He noticed Adamus Phillida among them and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself sniggering. Lavinia waited outside, as requested, and Haecuba accompanied him with Baurus and Lucien bringing up the rear.

The Palace was large and airy with many diamond-shaped dragons painted on the walls and set in the floor. Haecuba only took a very small amount of time to tell Ocato he was here and, in a trice, he was walking into the spacious Council Chamber. This room was almost completely taken up by a large circular table surrounded many innumerable chairs, all empty at present.

Chancellor Ocato himself was a well-dressed Altmer with smoothed, slightly-greying hair. The only sign of his age. He bowed before Martin (something he was long used to now) and began to speak in a tone that was only used at coronations and the like, "Martin Septim, on behalf of the Elder Council, I accept your claim to the Imperial Throne. We should arrange the coronation ceremony as soon as-"

"Chancellor Ocato! Chancellor Ocato!" Martin's stomach dropped before the Legion soldier had a chance to get his message out, "Chancellor Ocato! The city is under attack! Oblivion Gates have opened and daedra are inside the walls! The guard is overwhelmed!"

"No!" gasped Haecuba, her hands flying to her mouth, and she hurtled back out of the door,

"Courage, soldier." Ocato kept his voice level and Martin had to admire his calm aura in the face of this terrible news, "We have an Emperor again. Your Highness," He turned to Martin, whose Septim's instinct was going into overdrive, telling him what to do, "what are your orders? Shall the guards fall back to the Palace?"

"No." Martin said, very firmly, "If we let ourselves get beseiged in the Palace, we're doomed. We must get to the Temple of the One immediately."

"As you command, sire." Ocato looked as though he thought this was a bad idea. He wondered how often he had this from his father, "Guards! Form up and protect the Emperor! To the Temple of the One!"

There was a loud bang and shards of wood with sparks flying into the room. Martin leapt back and drew his sword. The legion soldier that had brought the news was knocked unconscious by a heavy beam flying through the air. Chairs flew everywhere, as did the bodies of various daedra, "YOU OVERSIZED IDIOT, OCATO!" Lavinia appeared, claymores already bloodied and a look of thunder on her face, "NEVER SEND IMPERIAL LEGION SOLDIERS TO DO MY JOB!"

Ocato was frozen by this outburst. Lavinia, taking advantage of this lack of protest, rushed forward to grab Martin's arm and pull him out of the Palace. When they got outside, everything was turned a blood-red. The sky was blood-stained and the once pleasant green gardens was turned a horrible dark brown colour. It was shock after shock when he saw dark-armoured figures fighting the flood of daedra. He now knew why Lavinia was so irritated. The Dark Brotherhood probably had not told her they were in the city.

They hurried through the wrecked doors into the Temple District. With every step they ran, his Septim's instinct was making him more and more uncomfortable, like he had eaten something rotten for breakfast. Scattered Legion and Dark Brotherhood soldiers were fighting the daedra (thankfully, there were no civilians around), which were flooding out of at least five Oblivion gates around the place. There was a horrible crashing sound that sounded like buildings being demolished.

At first, dread flooded him at the thought of another seige engine. There was no mechanical clanking, though, only an immense grinding roar which made the air shake around them. Lavinia began to pull him towards the door but skidded to a halt halfway there.

An enormous four-armed demon, skin red as the sky and roaring like an angered bull. With a mighty swing, he took the roof off the closest building as though the bricks were not stuck together at all. People were fleeing, some carrying injured comrades, Dark Brotherhood and Legion alike. Screaming began to fill the air,

"We're too late!" Martin gasped, ducking quickly behind a pillar. For all Lavinia's strength, there was no way she could compete with an angry daedric prince. Lavinia, for once, held back, realising that she was far outmatched, "Mehrunes Dagon is here! Lighting the Dragonfires will no longer save us. The barriers that protected us from Oblivion are gone!"

Lavinia's already large eyes were wide as she stared at the daedric prince from her hiding place, "How can we get rid of him, then?"

"I don't see how." Martin said, hopelessly, begging his Septim's instinct to help him, "Mortal weapons may hurt him but now he is physically here in Tamriel, they have no power to actually destroy him."

"_Then, what can we do?_" Lavinia's voice was high and almost panicky, "_Have my efforts to gain the Amulet of Kings been for nothing?_"

"Wait." His Septim's instinct finally snapped back into action. A desperate and awful plan came to him, something Lavinia would hate but would save the whole of Tamriel. He made a decision not to tell her what it was, "Yes. The Amulet was given to mortals by Akatosh. It contains His divine power!"

"Yes, but it is not a weapon!" hissed Lavinia, his panic reaching new levels by the second,

"We must reach the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One. It's one last hope to try against Oblivion. I need your muscle one last time in this fight."

"Alright. Okay." She took deep breaths to try and calm herself, "We need to get past Dagon somehow." Seeming to have an idea (though, by the look on her face, she didn't like it at all), she reached down her armour and pulled out the ebony whistle. Shoving his fingers into his ears, he could only vaguely hear the screechy blast. Dagon glared around, looking for the source of the noise. Then, a familiar and now comforting neigh sounded. Shadowmere came crashing through what remained of the doors and reared before Dagon, trampling a scamp when she descended.

They had no time to witness her fate. Once Dagon had turned away, Martin and Lavinia ran at top speed out of their hiding place and through the miraculously unwounded doors of the Temple. Martin hastened to stand at the centre, were the Dragonfires would normally be lit. Lavinia hurried to his side, "What now?"

He took a deep breath, knowing it would not be easy to tell her, "I...I do what I must do. I cannot stay behind Tamriel. That task falls to others."

She got the gist at once. Her eyes widened again and she all but screamed at him, "_NO! I FORBID YOU TO SACRIFICE YOURSELF! WHAT WILL THE EMPIRE DO WITHOUT AN EMPEROR? THINK OF YOUR SON!_"

"I do." He nodded, "This is for the Empire and for our son. Now, please, I need your strength once more. Shatter the Amulet of Kings and get to the wall as fast as you can. Listen," He took hold of her face, "I know I'm asking you to do the last thing you ever want to do but you will not be alone when I die. Remember that."

Looking like she was facing her very worst fear, Lavinia raised a shaking hand and grasped the Amulet of Kings. Her strong hands squeezed it hard and, after a few seconds, the red jewel broke. Then, she was gone, running to the wall as he said. He had no time to look to her now. The Dragonblood was now burning hot but not painful. It was transforming him, fortifying his flesh and pulling his body into a whole new shape entirely. It was now very convenient that the roof of the temple had flown off when Dagon broke it down or else he would not have fit in the small building.

Now, Dagon was not something to be feared. Now, he was his opponent, a foul demonic thing that had no place on this earth. Spreading his wings, he flew at the thing like a loosed arrow, knocking into Dagon's shoulder and forcing him out of the temple. Doing a loop back round, he landed back in the temple, just in time for Dagon's sword to sink into his shoulder. It did not hurt as much as it should have or maybe the Dragonblood prevented him from feeling something as mundane as pain. Perhaps that was why he could stand the other blows he took.

Finally, he found an opening by breathing the fire within him upon the Daedric Prince and bit down on his neck. Dagon roared with pain and tried to shake him off. After a few frenzied seconds, Martin let go and Dagon slumped in defeat. Another breath of fire and he vanished in a flash of white.

The fire within him was now dying. He slumped over, panting with exhaustion. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lavinia, standing by the wall, her red eyes wide. How small she looked now with her two smaller swords that had kept Oblivion at bay for so long. It would be her who saw in the new era and her that would be the scribe of the next Elder Scroll. Her who raised their son. As he raised his head for a final cry to the heavens, he sent a silent prayer to the Gods that, despite her sins and allegiance, she may be able to reach him in the world of the dead when she finally left the living.

A/N: I hope I gave Martin and Eldamil good deaths.


	46. Epilogue: Return to Shadow

A/N: And, now, the final touches to my big Oblivion story that I've been working on for over a year! Can you believe that? I've been working on this for over 14 months and now, it's all coming to an end! I might start getting emotional soon!

A big thank you to all my readers, the 27 people who put this on story alert, the 36 people who added this to their favourites and the authors of the 182 reviews I have now! Hope you liked

**Broken Daggers**

**Epilogue: Return to Shadow**

_Arquen_

"Are we all assembled?"

"Yes." The Listener's voice came from within her hood. She was wearing her old Black Hand robes once more and her face was hidden. Somehow, she seemed less scary, even though there was no visible change. Perhaps it was because Arquen knew so much more about her now,

"Where _is _Alleno?" Banus wondered, doing an odd little dance on the spot, "I haven't seen him for months and I _did_ hope he'd turn up! Why on earth would he just vanish like that without letting me know?"

"Got scared away by the daedra, maybe." Belisarius shrugged, carelessly. He had not taken to Alleno at all in twenty years, still thinking him a silly boy cheating someone worthy out of the position of Speaker, "Or, eaten by a dremora."

"Oh, don't! Don't!" wailed Banus, looking close to tears at the thought and flapping his hands frantically. Arquen was really glad the Listener decided to step in at this moment,

"That will be addressed in a moment." The Listener said, bluntly, "What is important now is what to do now the battle is done." It was clear that she did not want to talk about the battle at all. It was nighttime, now, and the Dark Brotherhood had camped out a little way from the Imperial City. Not so close to it that they were in sight of the Imperial Legion but not so far away that they could get there without taking a horse. Not that anyone went there now except the Listener. A day had passed since the battle was finished and no one was really sure of what happened. The Listener certainly wouldn't say,

"We can't stay here." Belisarius said, at once, his eyes darting to the gate where two Legion soldiers stood, "Someone's bound to get recognised if we stay here for too long."

"My thoughts, exactly." The Listener nodded, "Now the Oblivion crisis is over, we must go underground for a while until the public forget our faces. I will request permission from the Night Mother to put our business on hold for the time being. A tall order, I know, but one necessary for our secrecy."

"What about you, Listener?" Arquen turned to her, frowning, "You can't disappear as easily as before. Everyone in Cyrodiil knows your face and it's not easy to forget."

"I know." The Listener nodded, "That is why I need to disappear from Cyrodiil completely."

"What?" Banus' eyes widened, "But, dear Listener, where on Nirn will you go? When will you be back?"

"I do not know when I will be back but I do know where I will go." She may have lost some of her frightening aura but she was still no better at being open with them, "Now, I want you all to arrange the secret departure of our Brotherhood. Each of you, take control of your guilds. Haecuba will take charge of the Anvil Sanctuary Murderers."

"Will Alleno be back at the Anvil Sanctuary?" Banus asked, hopefully. The Listener took a deep breath, looking like she was about to reveal a big secret,

"There is no such person as Alleno Hlaalu and there never was. He has been one of my aliases for over twenty years. Now, I no longer wish to don that disguise. Haecuba shall take over that Sanctuary. There are to be no compaints." With that, she stood, without offering any explanation or apology and ignoring Banus' stricken face, "Start moving out your Murderers. Use the horses only to carry the dead and the wounded. You Speakers shall be the last to leave. I will contact Haecuba if I need anything from you during my time away from Cyrodiil."

Without any word of farewell, she turned and began to walk towards the Imperial City. The Speakers stared after her for a moment, feeling left in the lurch and disatisified with the lack of explanation. Arquen was the first to recover, wondering how on earth the Listener had managed to hoodwink them all. That mute, mentally-unstable Speaker that Banus was so fond of had been the Listener all along? The concept boggled the mind,

"Come, Speakers." A voice came from the dark and Haecuba came into view, wearing a Black Hand robe that had most likely been given to her that same night, "We must attend to our Brothers. If we hurry, we should be able to move them away from the Imperial City within the hour. Speaker Alor," She caught him as he tried to move towards the retreating Listener, "I would advise against hindering the Listener. The facts are plain. Deal with them."

Not speaking to each other, the Speakers split up, Banus silent and sulky for the first time in years. It took surprisingly little time to get the Anvil rabble to obey Haecuba. Probably because she used the techniques the Listener used to scare people into doing what she wanted without any questions asked. How Arquen wished she had that talent sometimes. Perhaps she could persuade Haecuba to teach her.

Speaking of Haecuba...

Arquen carefully slipped a hand into her pocket and wondered how on earth she was going to ask what she wanted to, "Hae-I mean, Speaker Haecuba." She stopped and looked around,

"What is it, Speaker Arquen?"

"I was wondering if you could give this message to Captain Burd. I know he's staying in the Waywet Inn."

"What is in that message?" Haecuba's eyes narrowed. Arquen felt lying, though tempting, would not get her anywhere,

"It's...the truth." She felt heat rising around her neck, "You said it yourself once that the Listener would never tell Burd that she's in the Dark Brotherhood and, well...you can't keep secrets forever..."

There was a pause, the silence only broken by muted scuffling of taking down the tents and getting the wounded on horses around them. Haecuba sighed and held out her hand, "Let me have the message. I'll give it to him. Hopefully, the Listener will be long gone before he could confront her."

Arquen handed over the letter and walked back to her own Sanctuary, wondering whether she had done the right thing. She definitely would not have done this before Lavinia Harla became the Listener, _Dear Sithis, she's making me go soft. _Arquen shook her head, _She doesn't even consider me a friend and, here I am, trying to help! _She made sure, in her thoughts, to put a lot of emphasis on trying.

_Farwil_

He hated the idea of Lavinia fighting the daedra so soon after having a child. He had been shocked enough when he heard about how she had brought victory to Bruma. Garrus had returned with the soldiers he had accompanied to fortify the defence, telling them all about how she had gone into the Great Gate and destroyed the Seige Engine.

All the while, Farwil had remained silent, wondering how on earth she could have the stupidity to do something like that when she had a baby waiting for her somewhere. He wondered if Martin or the Blades had pressured her into it or someone else. Then again, she wasn't a person to be pressured so it had to be of her own free will.

Whenever he thought of Lavinia, he found himself fingering the Black Hand on his face unconsciously. The Obsidia had been totally silent since he had come back to Cheydinhal. Not a word or action using Farwil's body. This, he was glad of. Escaping his father's questions about it had been hard enough. Now, he knew why Lavinia was so quiet all the time. It was so much easier to just keep one's mouth shut and wait for the people around him to stop talking.

He really didn't know what to think or do right now. The Knights of the Thorn seemed like such a distant thing so he could not put his mind to it. Neither did he care when healers and priests poked his brand, investigating it and finding nothing. He knew the priests realised what sort of mark it was. He could tell by the fear on their faces when they looked too closely.

Being so numb, he nearly didn't notice himself being taken to the Imperial City. His father was so anxious to have that brand disappear, _Why won't he just leave it alone?_ He always thought, sourly. But, there was no changing his father's plan to stay at an aristocratic friend's house and going to see a healer the day after they arrived.

While at the Imperial City, they came upon the wonderful news that the Oblivion crisis was finished. Farwil knew he ought to feel happy at the news but he still couldn't move himself to feel anything. He just sat at the table, listening to his father talk to his friend,

"...don't know exactly what happened, of course, but a real dragon came down from the heavens and cast Dagon back into Oblivion. It turned to stone afterwards and it's still there. I can see it from my window! The both of them were higher than the city walls, would you believe!"

"What about this heir to the throne I've hear about?"

"Well, nothing more's been said about him. Everyone's too glad this whole thing is over to ask too much about details. No doubt, we'll know soon enough when the coronation rolls around."

Farwil's heart sank. So, Martin was going to become Emperor and Lavinia would probably become his Empress with the baby as the next in line,

"And, what about the Hero of Kvatch? Or, I suppose, it's Champion of Cyrodiil now. I'm sure Farwil would like to know what happened to her, wouldn't you, Farwil?"

Farwil could only manage out a small noise of assent when his ears were opened wide,

"She's a good friend of the family, you see, and I'm sure Farwil will be glad to hear she's alright."

"Oh, so she is, so she is. There's talk that she will be crowned Empress."

"_Really?_" His father's eyes widened in surprise, "But, that means she will marry the _heir_! I had the impression she was rather fond of my Farwil."

At this, Farwil had had enough. He stood up without excusing himself and marched up to the room prepared for him. It was enough to know that Lavinia preferred another man without it being said out loud so carelessly like that. He sat miserably on the bed and glanced out of the window at the statue of the dragon that supposed saved them all. He wondered if Lavinia was in the palace now, perhaps preparing the marriage ceremony with Martin.

Right now, he really wanted to talk to the Obsidia. To know if his cryptic plans to get him together with Lavinia were now all to waste,

_What do you think, Obsidia?_ He thought, trying to get a response, _When Lavinia puts herself in the line of fire like she did with the Oblivion Gates. I know you've seen her. You can't just think that's right, can you?_

"_I think the same I think every time Lavinia does something reckless like that._" The Obsidia's voice came into his head as though he had never left, "_The first few times, I screamed at her to stop and think but, of course, the living can't hear the cries of ghosts._"

_Unless they've got something wrong with their face._ Farwil thought, bitterly, _Anyway, where were you?_

"_Watching your reaction. And, keeping an eye on Lavinia. As empowered as I am being dead, I can't be in two places at once._"

_So, what did you think of my reaction?_

"_Appropriate. Though, nowhere near as dramatic as I expected. At least, you didn't make a total fool or yourself._"

_Wow, that's a first. I didn't make an idiot of myself._

"_I know. Astonishing. Anyway, do not think that you are nothing to Lavinia now. Martin is...not a problem anymore. Which means,_" His voice became gleeful, "_I win our bet._"

Farwil scowled, _You were trying to get Lavinia and me to fall in love for a BET?_

"_Vicente proposed it first. He saw Martin and wagered that Lavinia might be attracted to him. I disagreed, since I knew she already liked you, and the bet was drawn from then. Do you really think I would do this to benefit you or Martin?_"

_What did you bet with?_

"_Nothing, really. It was just a game. Now, don't get like that. I'm only telling you the truth._"

_So, why isn't Martin a problem anymore?_

"_Oh, you'll know soon enough. You cannot rely on an unholy spirit to give you information or advice, you know._"

With that, he fell silent again. Probably gone to check on Lavinia.

His father bade him goodnight around eleven o'clock but Farwil was in no mood to sleep. The Obsidia had thrown that tantalising bit of hope before him and his mind kept him awake with possibilities. Perhaps, Martin was mortally wounded in the fight. Or, another suitor had been chosen for him. Or, Lavinia's allegiance to the Dark Brotherhood had been discovered. The lack of knowledge knawed away at him for hours until-

_SMASH!_

The window shattered inwards, making him jump and sit bolt upright. Throwing off the bedcovers, he stared out of the window and saw a dark-hooded figure below. An incredible sense of deja vu seized him and he whispered, "Lavinia?"

"Yes, Farwil. Come down here. I want to talk to you!"

He hurried to put on a cloak and some shoes before creeping as quietly as he could downstairs and out of the door. He was amazed no one had woken up, though he suspected that some unholy ghosts might have had something to do with it. Still, he took care to open and close the door quietly, which he remarkably managed. The Obsidia must be rubbing off on him.

Lavinia was wearing her old black robes she always used to wear when he knew her as Lenore with her claymores crossed on her back, "Sorry about that. I always seem to throw those stones too hard."

"Don't worry. I'll tell them a bird crashed into the window."

There was a small silence. She looked up into Farwil's face and frowned, "I heard about that brand from Haecuba. And, that you were with Martin and the others when they came looking for me. Why did you go before I got a chance to meet you?"

"Oh, I dunno." Farwil was glad it was dark so she couldn't see him flushing, "Besides, you had enough on your plate without worrying about me."

She didn't look like she believed him, he could tell that even in the dark, but she let it pass, "Never mind. I'm glad I managed to find you now and it's not worth arguing over the past. So, what has the Obsidia been doing in your body?"

"I'll take that question." The Obsidia appeared out of the blue, speaking through his lips and giving her a winning smile, "I've so far only been taking over Farwil's body to persuade Banus to let our son out and to hide for the past few months before that."

"Lucien," Lavinia's arms folded, "tell me how to get rid of your brand now and get out of Farwil's body now or I will stab myself and go after you in the Void."

Farwil yet again marvelled at how she could say this kind of thing so casually, "Oh, come along, is that any way to greet your ex-husband?"

"Forgive me, Lucien." She sneered, "I haven't been able to meet with anyone who's had their dead spouse call by so I'm not sure what to do. Now, if you're hurting Farwil-"

"I'm not, I'm not." The Obsidia waved Farwil's hand carelessly, "There's no need to get in such a bad mood."

"When someone dies, I would rather like them to stay dead." Lavinia's voice became cold, "It's just more painful to meet with them again after that."

"Very well, very well. I didn't think you'd be glad to see me without warning."

With that, the Obsidia was gone, allowing Farwil to breathe a sigh of relief, "Sorry." Lavinia sighed, "I am just really not prepared to meet ex-husbands now."

"Why? What's the matter?" He noticed for the first time that Lavinia seemed rather tired. Her short temper must be another sign of that,

"Martin is dead." This piece of news hit him in a way that was neither pleasant or horrible, "He became the dragon you must have heard about and it cost him his life to cast Dagon back into Oblivion. Did you not know?"

"No one knows yet." Farwil admitted, knowing that he wasn't being very sensitive, "Everyone's just too glad the Oblivion crisis is over. And, my father's friend said something about the Elder Council making you Empress."

"Me, the Empress?" She gave a humourless laugh, "I've never heard anything so foolish. And, the sad thing is that it's all true. They do intend on making me the de facto Empress in the perceived absence of a lack of Septim blood."

"I think you'd make a great Empress." Farwil said, earnestly,

"How good an Empress I would be doesn't matter. You're forgetting one very important thing." She pulled at her hood, "The Dark Brotherhood. When the Elder Council examines Ocato's proposal, I will come under intense scrutiny. Far too many questions will be asked and far too many answers will be given. I would give my secrecy about a week before it is destroyed completely and, well, perhaps you already have a good idea of what would happen."

Farwil could indeed picture what would happen. The Blades, the Elder Council and the Imperial Legion simulataneously turning against her, hunting her down wherever she went. Every god-fearing citizen going from loving her to fearing and hating her overnight. His father's horror at the idea that he had frequently allowed the head of the Dark Brotherhood entrance to Castle Cheydinhal. And, perhaps the worst of all: people recognising the symbol on Farwil's face and turning him into an outcast for it,

"What are you going to do?" Farwil asked, unconsciously shrinking into the wall as though he was being hunted already,

"What any law-breaker does when they are about to be exposed. Flee."

"Flee?" Farwil repeated, dumbly, "You're going to-"

"Leave Cyrodiil. Not permanently, mind. Just for enough time for people to find a cleaner candidate for Emperor."

"Where will you go?" Farwil was beginning to panic. He did not want her to go. He'd just learned not to care that she was an assassin, "If you just vanish like that, it'll look even more suspicious." He added, on a flare of thought,

"Don't worry. I have an excuse. I am going to collect Vicente, meet with Lucien and my grandfather and then try to re-establish the House of Harla in Morrowind. Haecuba will be joining us too as my servant since she was so willing to when the Dark Brotherhood is successfully hidden. We are already moving our forces away from the Imperial City and Haecuba is finishing her healing of Shadowmere."

"Will..." He tried to phrase it in a way that didn't sound it was copied from a romance novel, "...will I hear from you again...before you come back...?"

"We shall see." A final pause and then, Lavinia stood on her tip-toes and kissed both his cheeks, making him blush even more. He was sure that even the brand was blushing, "When I get back, I want to see that you have improved, Sir Farwil. I got this strength with twenty years' hard work. Let's see if you can surpass that."

And, she was gone. Blended into the shadows as easily as though she had become one, disappearing from sight in a split-second.

The next day, his father was eager to catch a Black Horse Courier salesperson and there was a very large crowd at the office so it was easy for Farwil to slip away unnoticed. He didn't need to hear the news second-hand after all. With his eyepatch on, no one really looked twice at him and he managed to find a quiet spot in the Talos Plaza District to sit in the morning sun and mull over plans to rejunvinate the Knights of the Thorn,

"Pardon me, sir." A familiar but rather unwelcome voice made him jump. Looking around, he saw Banus Alor, who thankfully had enough sense to wear normal clothes, looking very fretful indeed, "Have you seen a boy with a long black pigtail and Akaviri robes around here?"

"No." Farwil said, realising that Lucien had probably not told his Speaker he was going. He wondered if Banus even knew his Silencer was the Listener's son,

"Oh, dear! Oh, _dear!_" Banus whined, looking almost close to hysterics and jerking his head everywhere, "_He keeps running away all the time! Why on earth does he keep doing this? Doesn't he know how much he's making me worry?_"

"I'm sure he'll turn up." Farwil said, more to stop people staring than anything, "If you've found him the last time, you'll find him this time."

"Well," Banus sounded almost tearful now, "if you see him, you will bring him to me, won't you? I hate the idea of the poor thing lost and alone around here. I'll be in the Waywet Inn outside the City if you come across him. Oh, and he's a mute so don't expect him to answer you. His name's Raven and he's half-Dunmer. Oh, I do hope he's alright. I know he wasn't killed in the invasion."

With that, he hurried off towards the Market District, probably to ask the merchants if they'd seen anything. Farwil began to feel a little sorry for Banus and a little guilty for lying. He was acting a bit like he'd heard his father had done when he had gone missing. As he went back to his plans, he felt rather grateful that Banus didn't recognise him as the Branded One or whatever they called him in the Dark Brotherhood,

"Hey, you're Farwil Indarys, aren't you?"

A deep voice interrupted his ideas of how to advertise it and he looked around to see a Nord with black hair liberally streaked with grey and a Bruma guard uniform, "Yes, that's me. Why?"

"Lavinia told me about you. Said you were a good friend."

That made him stand up at once. He realised who this must be, remembering the story of Lavinia's 'death', "Are you Captain Burd?"

"That's me." His face was rather grave for a day that gave such good news, "I was wondering if you knew where she was. I want a little talk with her." The tone of his voice did not sound good and he silently commended Lavinia for her decision to leave,

"No, I don't, sorry." He sat down again, hoping Burd would just leave it at that, "Maybe...one of the Imperial Legion captains know." He felt it was good to at least lead him in the wrong direction but this hope was quickly squashed,

"No, I've asked all of them. I've been looking for her everywhere." A knowing look came across his face, "She must have taken off already."

"Taken off?" Farwil repeated, trying to sound as innocent as possible,

"Yeah. When she's had enough of one place, she takes off to pastures new." As he moved off, Burd said to himself, "She'll be back though. Might take her a few decades but she'll be back."

Burd never knew how much this statement heartened Farwil.

~THE END~


End file.
